


The Ship of Dreams

by blankie



Category: Anne with an E (TV), Titanic (1997)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Anne is Jack, Bisexual Anne Shirley, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gibert is Rose, Implied Anne Shirley/Diana Barry, Lesbian Diana Barry, Lesbian Winifred Rose, Male-Female Friendship, No character bashing, POV Alternating, Possibly OOC, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Titanic AU, Tragic Romance, for many characters lol, we love a gender reversal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21530290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blankie/pseuds/blankie
Summary: As he sits at a table listening to the mindless chatter of those around him, suddenly the question that’s plagued Gilbert Blythe since he stepped foot aboard the Titanic is answered. He cannot survive this future that has laid out before his feet - he cannot marry Winnifred Rose or be the next head of the Rose family the way her father wants him to. He sees only one way out, only way he can make it off this ship with anything of him left.Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, third-class orphan with only a dream to her name, is determined to show him otherwise.
Relationships: Diana Barry & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe & Jerry Baynard, Gilbert Blythe & Winifred Rose, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Winifred Rose, Jerry Baynard & Anne Shirley
Comments: 70
Kudos: 157





	1. Chapter 1: The Ship of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> this au is pretty much the movie with changes to fit the characters - jack and rose's relationship/situation is, after all, what i wanted to capture, not necessarily the titanic itself. i know the story isn't exactly comparable when you reverse the gender roles, as it gets rid of all the ways the story is about the position of women in society, but this is just a silly romance in the end. i tried to preserve some of it, but you'll have to determine how i did. 
> 
> some lines you may recognize from the movie - these are obviously not mine and i dont claim them to be, i just thought they fit well. as well, although there were real people in the movie (like Bruce Ismay, Thomas Andrews, and Molly Brown) I won't be including them in this because it simply feels too strange to write fanfiction about real people, not the mention the very event that some of them died in. In fact, this is only about the Titanic specifically (and not a fictional ship) because that's what the movie is about. Anyways, those characters have been replaced by other people from AWAE, although the real people certainly still exist in this universe. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy :]

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert’s place on the RMS Titanic was an act from God, of that she has no doubt. She swore she could feel his very presence at the gambling table she sat at with her best friend and former farmhand, Jerry Baynard. Winning those tickets, minutes before departure? No mere luck can account for that. Anne doesn’t believe that luck can account for the way they make it onto the Titanic by the skin of their teeth, either, although she does believe that it has already become quite the grand adventure.

So, it is by God’s will that Anne is aboard the “Ship of Dreams”. She’s bigger than Anne could’ve imagined in her wildest dreams (and Anne has _quite_ the imagination). The Titanic soars above every other ship in the harbour, and Anne thinks the smokestacks almost look like the towers on a magnificent castle. The view from the top deck is _fantastic_ , and she says as much.

“Look, Jerry!” She calls, laughing as she hangs off the railing. “Everyone looks so diminutive from up here, like ants!” She waves exuberantly to the crowds below. Jerry looks at her like she’s crazy but hesitantly looks over the railing anyway, a green tinge to his face.

“Who are you even waving at?” He says, and his French accent garners a few strange looks from the people standing beside them – Anne’s not quite sure why, the ship is going to be stopping in France, after all. “We don’t know anyone here.” Anne giggles.

“So?” She replies. “Nobody down there knows that! It’s the principle of the thing! The Titanic is about to embark on her maiden voyage and _we_ are blessed enough to be her first guests – everyone is waving to each other, and to her!” Jerry shrugs and joins her in waving; soon, the two of them are hooting and hollering goodbyes at strangers who, in this moment, don’t feel so unknown.

Anne wishes Matthew and Marilla could be here. At the thought of them she visibly deflates, no longer waving as energetically. The siblings had died two years ago, both passing within weeks of each other. After months of trying to run the farm on their own Anne and Jerry had realized that they just couldn’t do it and had sold the property, using the money to travel. The funds had lasted them until two months ago, which Anne and Jerry had taken as a sign that it was time to head home. Home being the property in Prince Edward Island the Cuthbert’s had been left after the death of their older brother a few years ago – Anne has never seen Green Gables, but Marilla’s descriptions had made it sound like paradise. Although Anne’s grateful for the eight years she’s had with her parents since they adopted her at age eleven, she can’t help but wish that she could’ve had more year with them. And although the loss is no longer fresh in her mind, Anne also can’t help but wish that the Cuthbert’s could be here to see the RMS Titanic in all her glory and know that their kids are doing alright.

Jerry notices her sudden drop in mood and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“They’re still here.” He says plainly, as he has so many times in the past two years. Anne knows what he’s going to say by heart, having had the platitude whispered to her many a dark night. Jerry places a solemn hand on his chest, and Anne smiles warmly at him – where would she be without Jerry? “And they’re always going to be here.” Suddenly he grins mischievously. “Although I shudder to think of what Mrs. Cuthbert would say about your caterwauling.”

Anne gasps with fake shock and smacks Jerry around the back of the head.

“I am not _caterwauling_!” She exclaims. “And _if_ I am – and that’s a big _if_ , Jerry Baynard – you’re doing much the same, so Marilla would have your ear too.” Anne reaches over and pinches it lightly herself, giggling when Jerry reaches up to playfully slap her hand away. They’re once more getting looks from the people around them (who look to be of a slightly higher class), but neither Anne nor Jerry care. At this point they’re used to it.

Only when the ship starts to pull away does the pair move from their perch on the deck. Anne is loath to say goodbye to the magnificent view of the sea that comes from being so high on the ship, but she knows that she has seven days to enjoy such luxuries, so she allows Jerry to drag her away.

“I’m not losing my bed because you’re too busy dreaming about jumping into the ocean.” He says as he grabs her arm and drags her away from where she’s been looking down. “It’s blue, blue, and more blue – you’ve seen it already. You know what you haven’t seen? Our room.” With that he’s shoved her in front to lead the way – Anne is the one who holds the tickets, after all.

“G-sixty, G-sixty, G-sixty…” Anne repears to herself as they travel down and through the Titanic’s many wandering staircases and hallways. They’ve gone so low that by now it feels like they should have climbed the staircase down into hell, but Anne knows she’s also prone to dramatics, so she doesn’t complain. She’s too busy trying not to be distracted by the people she passes – all third class, like herself and Jerry, but all so _different_. The clothes, the accents, the _smells_! Multiple times Jerry has to push her to get her back into action when she’s been distracted by a particularly different style of dress, or a child who smiles brightly at her. It’s almost a miracle that they find their room as quick as they do – when they arrive all of their roommates are already there.

“Ah! Here it is!” She exclaims, turning to Jerry to point cabin G-sixty out to him. He nods and gestures for her to go first.

“Hello!” Anne says brightly to the two men already in the room. Based on the signs they’d passed (and the dwindling number of women as they’d walked down this particular hallway) Anne guesses that she’s probably not supposed to be here, in this room – it looks like the cabins are sorted by gender or family, and Anne is _not_ a man. But she’s come too far to be separated from Jerry at a time like this, so she doesn’t say anything and hopes these men will do the same. None of them give her any disgusted or leering looks, so she’s hopeful (as she always is).

“Bonjour.” Jerry says to them, tipping his hat. Anne allows him to make introductions as she throws her bag on the top bunk, securing it for herself. “Jerry Baynard, nice to meet you. This is Anne – hey!” Jerry says when he finishes shaking hands and turns to see what she’s done. “Who said you could have top bunk, huh?” He pokes her shoulder and Anne giggles, knowing he’s not going to do anything about it.

The pair can hear the men talking amongst themselves in another language (probably asking where the original owners of Anne’s tickets were) but they don’t bother Anne or Jerry, so they try not to pay the men any mind. When time comes for supper the two men invite Anne and Jerry to join them, a welcome surprise (considering Anne was half-convinced they would be robbed in their sleep). The two groups don’t speak to each other much, but it helps sooth Anne’s fears of being kicked out of the only cabin she has.

That night as she slips in between the sheets she can’t help but whisper her thoughts to Jerry, who stands at the foot of their bunk as he readies for bed.

“Jerry, just think!” She murmurs excitedly, pulling the sheet up to her chin. “This bed has never been slept in before – those chairs we sat in at supper? Never been sat in! We’re wholly and solidly the first to enjoy what the Titanic has to offer; can you believe it? I can’t believe that I, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert get to be the first at something – I never thought I’d see the day.” Jerry shakes his head fondly at her.

“Only you would be preoccupied with such things, Anne. Goodnight.” Jerry squeezes her hand once before laying down on his own bunk. It doesn’t take either of them long to fall asleep, tired out from the long, intense day and already excited to wake up the next morning and see what the Titanic has to offer.


	2. Chapter 2: The Ship of Nightmares

As Gilbert Blythe stares up at the RMS Titanic, he curses God and whatever other powers brought him here. At least he has a moment to himself to admire the ship, away from Mr. And Mrs. Rose. It’s surreal to see her in broad daylight – she’s much bigger than Gilbert imagined, although it doesn’t do much to calm his nerves. This journey marks the end of his freedom and Gilbert _dreads_ it – every fiber of his being tells him to turn tail and run, to never step foot on that ship. But then Winnifred Rose steps out behind him, and the chance is gone.

“Why, she’s beautiful!” Winnie exclaims, bringing a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. Her hat is off, like it always is. “I’ve never seen a ship so large!” She doesn’t take her eyes off the Titanic, even as Gilbert takes her hand and helps her to the ground. The smile on her face is radiant, causing her cheeks to dimple prettily, and in any other life Gilbert thinks the sight would’ve made his heart skip a beat.

“It doesn’t look any bigger than the Mauretania to me.” He says cynically, suddenly unwilling to give the ship any credit. Winnie just laughs.

“Oh, Gilbert, you can be cynical about a great many things, but not _Titanic_. She’s the ship of dreams!”

Internally Gilbert rolls his eyes – ship of _whose_ dreams? Not his, that’s for sure. Ship of torture, more like. But he doesn’t say any of that aloud.

“You’re right, Winnifred.” He replies evenly, careful not to use her nickname in front of her father. “I’ve heard it’s more luxurious, too.” He says as a sort of peace offering – Winnie takes it, eyes gleaming.

“Oh, I’ve heard it’s like a floating castle! I cannot wait to see my room!” Her grin turns sly. “I heard our rooms are right next to each other, convenient, isn’t it?” Gilbert stumbles as she bumps her hip to his and laughs. Any comment he might offer in return is cut off by Nigel Rose, who’s caught up to them.

“All of our luggage has been taken care of.” He says. “This man here will take us to our rooms to get settled. Gilbert, I’d like a word with you!” Nigel slings an arm around Gilbert’s shoulders and smiles, but it has entirely too many teeth. Gilbert gulps – ever since his father’s death Nigel Rose has become more and more intimidating, like a shark that’s smelled blood and is moving in for the kill.

“Of course, sir.” Gilbert replies nonetheless, because you don’t simply _ignore_ the father of your fiancée, especially not when that father is _Nigel Rose_.

As the group heads to their cabins Gilbert can hear the cheering of both people on the decks of the Titanic and those who are on shore – it’s so loud and passionate that Gilbert wishes he could be up there too, waving at people he doesn’t know. But the White Star Line employee leading them through the ship avoids all decks, and Gilbert doesn’t get to catch one last glimpse of England before they leave – he mourns the loss, knowing he’ll likely never return to the country where his father spent the last years of his life again.

The rooms are large and well decorated, nothing like the small, stark prison cells Gilbert had been unknowingly imagining. Instead the bed is comfy, and the private deck is spacious – never has Gilbert more felt the effects of his wealth. However, he doesn’t have long to admire the cabin before Nigel is knocking on the door.

“Gilbert!” He exclaims, entering before Gilbert can say anything or open the door. “My boy, I’m so glad you agreed to join us on this trip. I look forward to getting to know you, and this arrangement will benefit both our families; I am sure.” Gilbert smarts at the comment – he doesn’t have a family, not anymore. “Between you and me, Winnifred is absolutely smitten with you. She hasn’t said anything but I can tell – she looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky, and anyone good enough for my little girl is good enough for me.” Nigel winks and Gilbert struggles not to laugh.

Not a single word Nigel has just said is true, even if he thinks it is. Gilbert loves Winnie dearly, but she’s like a sister to him and nothing more, and she feels the same, he can tell. For all her jokes and innuendos Gilbert knows that her interest will always lay elsewhere, and in people who he could never be (although he’d never tell Nigel that his daughter loves women – he’d kill himself first). And Gilbert also knows that, if it weren’t for his money and family name, Nigel wouldn’t even have let him within six feet of Winnie. This farce Nigel is putting on is funny, although it would be funnier if Gilbert weren’t already so tired of the act – how can _this_ be the rest of his life? Will he ever get to be _real_ again?

Somehow managing not to laugh, Gilbert nods instead and turns away from Nigel to the luggage holding his books. Half of them are already lying loose on the bed – Gilbert just can’t be comfortable anywhere if he doesn’t have his books, even more so now. It helps him feel like his father is still with him, wherever he goes. Nigel clearly doesn’t share the same sentiment – he stalks over to the plush bed and picks up a book with two fingers as if it might bite him, a look of disgust on his face.

“I know you must study a lot to become a doctor, but is _drivel_ really appropriate? Surely you should be spending your time on more important things.”

Gilbert hurries to rescue the book from Nigel’s grasp. “This _drivel_ ,” Gilbert says, laying the book gently on the dresser, “is by Shakespeare and has been considered a classic for hundreds of years. I find reading opens the mind – yes, even fiction. My father was always fond of it as well.” Gilbert strokes the cover of the book fondly while Nigel’s expression quickly turns from disgust to awkwardness.

“Well, I will see you at supper, Gilbert.” He says, already edging to the door. “Don’t be late!”

Then Nigel is gone, and Gilbert is left alone. He sits on the bed in one of the few empty spaces and heaves a great sigh.

“How am I going to survive this?” He murmurs to himself, and deep down he knows that ‘this’ doesn’t just mean the Titanic’s maiden voyage. How is Gilbert going to survive the rest of his _life_ if it is to be this way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah those are the first few chapters!! I already have the next couple written out and i have all of them at least vaguely planned so that's how i know there's going to be 23 :] i don't have a guess how long it will be but my estimate is 2000 words per chapter on average, so you do the math 
> 
> comments would really be great if you're enjoying this - they really help inspire me to update <3
> 
> speaking of updates, i'll try to update this every few days? i won't post two chapters at a time anymore, i just really wanted to intorduce both anne and gilbert at the same time. all chapters will be pov alternating :]


	3. Chapter 3: Exploration

Anne wakes early the next morning, earlier than she ever did on land. The two men that share the cabin (Felix and Jonas, as Anne had learned last night over supper) are still sound asleep – Jerry is too, but Anne quickly remedies that.

“What-“ He exclaims, jolting awake as Anne jumps on his chest.

“Shh!” She hisses, cutting him off by putting her finger to his lips. “Felix and Jonas are still sleeping, do you _want_ to wake them?” Jerry glares at her.

“Maybe if you’d have given me some warning I wouldn’t have yelled!” He hisses back, pushing to get her off him. “Get off!” He exclaims when she won’t move, and Anne lets him squirm a bit more before finally getting up. She’s already dressed, having perfected dressing under the covers at the orphanage years ago, but Jerry is still in his night clothes, so she courteously turns her back to let him change.

It takes him a while (and a lot of grumbling) but eventually Jerry is ready to go. It’s too early for breakfast to be served but Anne doesn’t mind – she’s used to going without breakfast, and the thought of exploring this spectacular ship is too enticing to resist.

“Come on, Jerry!” She exclaims as soon as they close the door to the cabin. Grabbing his hand, she’s already dragging the tall boy down the hall before he can reply. “I am going to know every nook and cranny of this ship by the time we’re in New York, and you’re going to help me!” Jerry drags his heels, grumbling something about food or maybe sleep, Anne’s not sure. “Oh, don’t play this game with me Jerry. I’ll pick you up and carry you across this ship, you know I will!” She says, a mischievous glint in her eyes. He continues to drag for a few more steps before picking up his own weight, because he knows she’s serious.

“Lead the way.” He says wryly, and they’re off.

\--

The ship really is large, larger than anything Anne’s ever seen – the pair very nearly get lost on their way back from lunch, and that’s even _with_ directions from an employee. All in all the explorative mission is a success; they’ve seen most of the third class decks (excluding the one’s outside) and discovered quite a few secrets. Anne’s favourite is the graffiti they’d found behind a box of life vests, left behind by some of the boys who worked on the ship. Anne and Jerry both happily add their names to the scribble. Jerry clams not to have a favourite, but Anne knows he was quite fond of the first class dogs they’d come across, being walked by a White Star Line employee.

Only after they’ve eaten does Jerry allow Anne to drag him out to the top decks – she’d tried to convince him to go earlier, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Oh, just smell that!” Anne exclaims as they walk out into the open air. Immediately she’s sprinting over to the railing so that she can hang off it. “Doesn’t it just smell so _fresh_ and _alive_ , Jerry? Why, I feel like I’ve been born again!” Anne laughs into the wind and is delighted to hear it take her voice. Jerry just rolls his eyes and drops her notebook at her feet.

“You have fun with that. I’m going to take a nap on that bench, bye.” He says, then he slouches off to do exactly what he said. Anne hurries to grab his arm.

“Hey! You can’t just leave me like that! There’s a whole new deck for us to explore!” Jerry hesitates and Anne does her best to look every bit the hungry, desperate orphan she used to be. “Oh, please, Jerry! Doesn’t all this ocean and sky just make you feel invigorated? I feel more myself than I have in _ages_!” It this last comment that gets to him, she can tell. Jerry is protective of Anne, though he won’t admit it, and seeing her so desolate after the Cuthbert’s death had panicked him – he’s desperate to keep her from falling back into that funk.

“Fine!” Jerry exclaims, shrugging her off and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “But _then_ I’m taking a nap.” Anne nods, happy once more, and skips off the explore.

There isn’t much on the deck, just _ship_ things, but Anne still finds enough to amuse herself. She never tires of looking at the ocean – something about it just soothes her soul and incites her mind, all at the same time. She’s looking into it at the bow of the ship when she spots two dolphins swimming along the hull.

“Jerry, look!” She shrieks, startling him from where he’s looking out at the ocean on the other side of the rope coming from the bow beside her. “Look, right there! Do you see it?” Anne points and Jerry nods. Laughing Anne follows the dolphin’s playful movements, yearning to be down there swimming with them. “It almost looks like we’re racing them! Woohoo!” Anne yells out, suddenly overcome with energy. An idea comes to her, and Anne jumps up so she’s standing on the railing, a head and shoulders above Jerry.

“Woohoo!” She screams again, and she can just barely hear Jerry’s laughter over the sound of rushing window.

“I can see the Statue of Liberty already!” Jerry yells up at her, finally infected with Anne’s cheer. They both laugh. “Very small, of course!” Anne kicks him gently in the side with the foot that’s behind him, because that’s just how they show affection.

“I’m the king of the world!” Anne yells out, once more on impulse. Her and Jerry devolve into a cacophony of yells and screams, because that’s just what one does when you’re standing on the edge of the ocean, the wind taking your voice to who knows where.

Eventually, however, all fun things must end, and Anne has to hop off the railing because it feels like her nose will fall off otherwise. She exchanges a grin with Jerry as they head back to where they’d started.

“Wasn’t that something?” Anne asks excitedly, more statement than question. “It felt like we were on top of the whole world!”

“Not from where I was standing, crowded in by your short little legs.” Jerry retorts, dodging the fist Anne sends his way. She chases him all the way back to where she left her notebook, glad to see it’s still there sitting on the deck, although she’s not sure who in their right mind would want to steal it.

It’s a ragged little thing, all dog eared corners and stained pages, with napkins and coloured pieces of paper sticking out from when inspiration strikes and it isn’t nearby. This little notebook was the first gift Anne ever received, given to her by Matthew Cuthbert on her first birthday with the Cuthbert’s; Anne’s been filling it with poetry ever since. Some of it is about the scenery, and some of it is about the weather, but most of it is about _people_. Anne’s written poems about Matthew, Marilla, Jerry, Cole, Josie, even complete strangers that catch her eye on the street. There’s just something about humanity that strikes passion into Anne’s heart like no other, and today that’s just what she’s looking for.

Sitting back against the railing Anne lets her eyes roam across the deck, carefully analyzing everyone she can see (except Jerry – she has enough poems about him). At first it’s a little girl and her father that catch Anne’s attention, the girl’s red hat a colourful contrast to the unending miles of blue. She writes a poem about seeing the ocean for the first time from the point of view of a young girl, and although it’s not Anne’s best work, she likes it. Jerry sits beside her, awake because he abandoned the idea of a nap long ago when the rush of wind and the crash of waves became too distracting. He’s talking to another man from third class – Anne hadn’t caught his name.

“This ship is beautiful, is it not?” Jerry is asking as Anne tunes into their conversation. The man (though he can’t be more than two years older than them) standing across from him scoffs.

“It’s alright I suppose, if you’re into the whole, ‘lots of metal and very rich’ thing.” He says this past the cigarette between his teeth. Him and Anne just happen to look up at each other at the same time – he’s a handsome, kind-looking portly fellow, although some might describe him boring. Anne laughs and shakes her head.

“ _I’m_ not into the whole ‘lots of metal and very rich thing’ and even I have to admit it’s beautiful. She truly is the ship of dreams.” Anne replies dreamily. The man chuckles at her answer, although not unkindly.

“Not my dreams.” He answers. There’s a pause as he looks her up and down and then he’s leaning forward with a hand extended. “I’m Moody, Moody Spurgeon.” Anne shakes his hand firmly; she’s pleased to see that he returns the strength.

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. Anne spelled with an e, mind you” She says. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Moody grins at her formality before moving on to shake Jerry’s hand. They make introductions but it sounds like they’re speaking from underwater, or maybe from behind a glass wall. Her attention has been caught by a lone figure standing on the first class deck – Anne’s sure he’s the most handsome man she’s ever seen.

He looks nothing like any of the romantic heroes she’s ever read about – he looks _better_. Dark, curly hair sweeps across a strong brow, and though his deep brown eyes are troubled they are still easily the most beautiful Anne’s ever seen. His jaw is chiseled and clean shaven and although Anne’s no artist she still itches to capture the exquisite lines of his face. He makes for a tragic picture, standing alone on the deck with the ocean breeze moving a suit that is most surely more expensive than anything Anne’s ever known. Her heart aches for this sorrowful man, and maybe there’s something else there too, although Anne doesn’t quite have a name for it. Just as she’s reaching for her notebook, he turns towards her and their eyes meet, only briefly. Anne’s almost sure that she imagined it when he turns again, this time holding the eye contact longer. Anne feels her heart skip a beat and freezes where she sits – the moment must last only seconds but to her it feels like an eternity. Vaguely she registers Jerry’s hand waving in front of her face, but she’s too distracted by the scene before her to pay him much attention.

A blonde woman (also more beautiful than most Anne has seen – where is the first class getting these people?) comes out onto the deck behind the man and pauses at his shoulder, resting her head gently against it. Immediately some of the tension leaks out of him, and Anne finds herself envious of a woman she’s never even met. This envy only grows as the pair laugh together, looking thick as thieves. Quickly, however, this moment is ended as an older-looking man harshly ushers them both back inside. Anne winces in sympathy at the looks on both the man and the woman’s face – she knows what it’s like to be reprimanded like that.

“Helloooo!” She finally hears Jerry calling as she returns to the present. “Earth to Anne? Are you still in there?” She flinches as Jerry tugs one of her braids.

“Ouch!” She exclaims, reaching over grab a fistful of his hair and pull it in return. They’re saved from a fistfight only by Moody interrupting with a wry chuckle.

“Forget it, Annie, he doesn’t even know we exist. You’ve got no chance with him.” He says this with an air of good humour, but Anne doesn’t like what he’s implying.

“Don’t call me Annie!” She huffs. “And I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about.” This time it’s Jerry who laughs.

“Yeah, right. Because you _weren’t_ ogling him like a starving man ogles a sandwich.” Jerry’s laughter is cut off by a flinch as Anne raises her hand threateningly.

“You’re right.” She says sharply. “I _wasn’t_.”

Standing abruptly, Anne grabs her notebook before storming off, knowing that she’s only going to have to endure more teasing if she stays. So, she leaves in search of a quiet place to write the poem she’s just thought of – that certainly has nothing to do with the handsome man, of course not!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a filler chapter for sure but i hope that's okay! the next one will definitely be longer but itll probably be longer before it's posted, bc i need to have more chapters in reserve first lol
> 
> thank you to everyone who commented and gave kudos!!! i rlly apprecitate it :)


	4. Chapter 4: Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: suicidal thoughts and suicide!!! 
> 
> if you've seen the movie then you already know the scene where rose goes to jump off the ship - this chapter isn't any more graphic but it does detail gilbert's thoughts about it and leading up to it. if that sounds too triggering feel free to skip it!!

Things look better in the light of day the next morning, if only because Gilbert and Winnie are allowed to go for a walk around the ship on their own. When not in the presence of her father Gilbert finds Winnie to be quite good company; in fact, he’d call her the best friend he’s ever had. She’s witty, determined, and one of the most cunning people he’s ever met. She’d run the family business quite well, if her father ever thought to let her.

“How did you sleep, Gilbert?” Winnie asks as they begin their walk.

“Well enough, thank you. The cabins really are luxurious.” Gilbert replies, unsure of what to say on the subject. He’d slept as well as he always has, what else is there to mention? Thankfully, Winnie doesn’t seem to mind his non-answer.

“Well _I_ had the most peculiar dream!” She says eagerly, hooking her arm around Gilbert’s. Winnie loves a good story, even if she isn’t the best storyteller herself. “It was dark outside, and still as death. It was so strange – I couldn’t even hear the ocean! And when I looked down at my feet – I was standing on the deck, you see – I was shocked to see sea water coming right up to my knees! The Titanic was sinking, Gilbert, how dreadful is that?” At this she pulls closer to Gilbert, and past the drama of Winnie’s performance he can tell that this dream (nightmare, sounds more like) has truly shaken her. Gently he cups his hand over hers, trying to convey that he understands. A grateful smile is the only response he receives before she continues. “It was horrid and terrifying and I think I died in the end, although I’m not quite sure. I don’t know what drowning feels like, so I’m not sure if that’s what was happening.” Gilbert is at a loss for words.

“Ah – I don’t know what drowning is like, either…” He says awkwardly, and Winnie laughs.

“Thank God for that!” She says, squeezing his hand and continuing to giggle.

The pair continue their walk until Winnie’s maid informs them that they’re to come in for lunch – Gilbert’s interest is hesitantly piqued. They’d taken a private supper in their rooms last night, so Gilbert has yet to see the lush furnishing of the dining room he’s heard so much about. If this is to be his prison, it’s better that the food is good, right?

Of course, he doesn’t plan for the fact that he’s going to be sitting at the same table as Nigel for the whole meal. It is a grave oversight indeed,

They’re seated at a delicately decorated table in the middle of the dining room, well away from any windows and thus robbing Gilbert of a distraction he’d been hoping to have. The chairs are perfectly comfortable, and the atmosphere of clinking saucers and chatter is friendly enough – Gilbert has few complaints. Another family joins them, a wealthy one the Rose family had met in England and become fast friends with (Gilbert uses the term friends loosely, of course).

The Barry’s seem nice enough – William and Eliza Barry are no different than the many other rich couples Gilbert has met in the last year, but their daughters seem nice enough. Diana is around his age while Minnie-May is _much_ younger. She’s dismissed halfway through the meal and Gilbert is sad to see her go; she’d been the one light spot in conversation, and Gilbert spent much of the first half of lunch entertaining her.

“You’ll be at breakfast tomorrow, right?” She asks, digging her heels in as their maid tries to drag her back to the cabins. A pitiful pout drags down her lips and Gilbert can’t help but smile.

“Yes, I will be.” He says. Minnie-May brightens up immediately.

“Pinky promise?” She asks sweetly, holding out her pinky. Gilbert laughs over Mrs. Barry’s scolding.

“Pinky promise.” He replies firmly, wrapping his finger around hers. Then Minnie-May is gone, leaving him with only Winnie and Diana to help him survive the meal. 

From the few words she’s spoken Diana seems intelligent and kind, but she’s also the very image of a proper lady and thus does not say much at all, offering Gilbert no reprieve from the dreadfully boring conversation Nigel and Mr. Barry are having. Mrs. Barry discusses something quietly with Mrs. Rose and Winnie, no doubt on a topic Gilbert has no place in.

“And what are your plans in America, Nigel?” Mr. Barry is asking as Gilbert tunes in. “Business?”

“Of a sort.” Nigel chuckles and Gilbert winces – he hates thinking of this marriage as a business deal. “Heading home to New York, actually, after almost a decade abroad. My Winnifred is getting married to Mr. Blythe.” Gilbert offers a neutral smile and a nod as Nigel gestures to him. Mrs. Barry and Mrs. Rose are now also attuned to their conversation. A quick look towards Winnie shows that she is also listening and, based off the lines around her mouth, already tired of this topic. “Then it’s off to university for Mr. Blythe. He’s to become a doctor.” Nigel says conspiratorially, as if Gilbert’s choice of vocation has anything to do with him. Mr. Barry looks shocked.

“Why, what about your business?” He asks.

Nigel just shrugs. “There’s plenty of time to train him in the trade after he’s had his fill of cleaning bedpans.” The pair laugh.

Gilbert clenches his teeth, both in fury and an attempt to refrain from lunging across the table. This isn’t anything new, because he’s heard Nigel say this drivel before, but never so boldly with Gilbert sitting mere feet away.

Whatever the older men say next Gilbert doesn’t catch, too startled by a pressure on his thigh. The sly grin on Winnie’s face quickly shows her to be the culprit, and Gilbert rolls his eyes at her, not bothering to dislodge what he is sure is her foot, stretching out to rest on him. He leans across the table to listen to her when she gestures for him to come close.

“Do you have any matches?” She whispers, breath tickling his ear. Gilbert nods and quickly retrieves them from his pocket, watching as Winnie lights the cigarette she holds in between her fingers. While he doesn’t smoke himself, many people around him do (Winnie especially) so Gilbert’s taken to carrying matches around with him all the same. Her parents don’t like the habit but wouldn’t dare to say anything about it to their precious daughter, so Gilbert’s not concerned about her sudden need for a smoke in the middle of lunch.

Or, they _usually_ wouldn’t dare to say anything.

“Winnifred, you know I don’t like that.” Mrs. Rose says quietly in a voice that is probably meant to sound meek. Winnie spares her barely a glance before turning away, although not before exhaling a lungful of smoke into her mother’s face. It’s a signature Winnie move, playful and nothing more, but Nigel doesn’t react how he normally does. Gilbert sees the move coming from across the table but doesn’t have time to warn Winnie.

Plucking the cigarette right out of her hand and putting it out violently in the ash tray on the table, Nigel’s glare is anything but amused.

“Yes,” he says, “she knows.” At that moment a waiter arrives at the table and all the charm is back. Mrs. Rose orders, then all the Barry’s and Gilbert, but before Winnie can speak up her father cuts her off.

“We’ll both have the lamb, rare with very little mint sauce, thank you.” Nigel smiles at the waiter, as if he hasn’t just treated his daughter like little more than a _child_ in front of the entire table. It irritates Gilbert to no end; the way Nigel controls and stifles Winnie. Even this marriage arrangement is of his doing, and suddenly Gilbert feels intense hatred for the man that sits across from him, rather than the quiet resentment and begrudging thankfulness he’s been harbouring so far.

“Are you going to cut her meat for her too, Mr. Rose?” Gilbert blurts out scathingly before he can stop himself. Immediately he can feel his ears start to burn but he lets none of it show on his face – he’s dug his grave, now he has to lie in it. Besides, it’s not like this is the first time his sharp tongue has got the best of him.

On the other side of the table Nigel has gone deadly still and is just staring at Gilbert, the grin from before frozen on his face. Gilbert can only take a moment of the eye contact before he turns to Miss Barry, desperate for a distraction. Her brown eyes spark with amusement.

“I wonder where the name Titanic came from?” He asks her, although it’s clear the question is addressed to everyone present. The false air of confidence he’s taken on doesn’t seem to convince Nigel, but Mr. Barry is happy to answer the question.

“Not only does the name Titanic denote _great_ size and thus strength, but she is named similarly to the Oceanic. It is derived from the Titans of Greek Mythology, who were large and powerful themselves.” Mr. Barry interjects, seemingly unaware of the tone of the table. His wife doesn’t look happy at his interruption, but he is positively delighted to be able to impart such knowledge upon Gilbert, who can’t help but smile at him in return. Then Winnie, who is forever incapable of letting sleeping dogs lie, ruins Gilbert’s distraction.

“Have you ever read Freud, Mr. Barry?” She cuts in sharply, causing both Gilbert and Nigel to give her warning glances. Gilbert is just worried about the consequences she might bring upon the both of them should she consider this thread of conversation – they’re in enough trouble already. Winnie, of course, ignores them both. “His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest of you.”

Despite his worry Gilbert has to stifle a laugh, and he can see Miss Barry doing the same. Mr. and Mrs. Barry look utterly confused, as does Mrs. Rose. Nigel, however, look furious, which somewhat dampens the amusement.

Before anyone can reprimand her Winnie is off, placing her napkin on the table and calmly walking away with more grace than should be possible after such a remark. Gilbert takes this as an out, an escape from the dreadful tension at the table.

“Winnifred!” He calls out after her, the concern in his voice only partially fake. “I apologize for the interruption, but I must go after her. Excuse me.” Nigel says something just after Gilbert’s out of earshot that makes the whole table break out into titters, but Gilbert tries not to pay it any mind.

Winnie is no where to be found in the hallway, although that is hardly a surprise. She probably went to the lady’s room to take a breath, and Gilbert has no intention of following her there. She can take care of herself, he’s quite sure. Instead Gilbert heads out to the deck, looking for some fresh air to erase this whole experience from his mind.

The deck is surprisingly full, given the cool Atlantic breeze and the fact that lunch is happening inside. Gilbert doesn’t mind – nobody bothers him, not even the employees. The sight of the treacherous ocean does little to calm his mind, although he feels a strange yearning in his heart as he looks at it. Is this to be the rest of his life? Fighting with Nigel, pretending to be happy for virtual strangers who only look at him and see a pocketbook? Gilbert shakes his head, trying in vain to clear his thoughts and instead focus on the view around him.

The first time he looks over to the third class deck all Gilbert catches is a flash of red, so vibrant and glowing that he has to do a subtle double-take to look again. The second time he looks at the girl the beautiful hair belongs to, and _wow_. Gilbert almost pinches himself, sure he must be dreaming. The girl looking back at him is the most beautiful he’s _ever_ seen, and that’s saying something.

Her hair is first to catch his eye, but it’s not the last. As his eye travels down her form he takes in the scattering of adorable freckles strewn across her face and her sweet, curved lips – the pink in her cheeks is surely from being out in the Atlantic breeze so long, but that makes the colour no less beautiful. With a thin, sharp face and piercing blue eyes she is utterly striking; Gilbert himself feels like he’s been struck through the heart as it skips a beat when her eyes look him up and down similarly. He tries not to linger on her body, because that’s not proper, and the baggy clothing she wears helps as it doesn’t lend much to the imagination, but he’s not entirely successful. Her gaze upon him is sharp and unreadable – he can’t tell if she likes him or wants to kill him.

Gilbert’s not one to be poetic, but if anyone were to ask him to describe this heavenly creature that sits across from him, he’d say that she looks exactly like how he’d imagine an angel would. Sharp and full of passion, but so beautiful you can’t help but want to draw near.

His near-trance is interrupted by Winnie, calling from behind him – Gilbert isn’t sure if he’s angry or grateful for the distraction.

“Oh, Gilbert.” She sighs, coming up beside him to rest her soft head on his shoulder. Tension he didn’t know he’d still been holding from lunch leaks out of Gilbert at the contact. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you trouble. I-“

Gilbert cuts her off. “Winnie, it’s not your fault.” He tries to smile at her. “Besides, you know I don’t mind your smoking.” Then he turns once more to look out upon the ocean and sighs, taking some of her weight and leaning some of his into her – they are now holding one another up. For a moment everything feels right again.

“…I can’t believe I brought up Freud like that, right in front of all those stuffy gentlemen and women!” Winnie says breathlessly, a giggle closely following her words. Gilbert smiles despite himself. “I’m lucky my father doesn’t read – he’d surely have my _head_ if he knew who Freud is.”

“Poor Mr. Barry.” Gilbert says, and Winnie giggles so loudly she must stifle it with her hand. “I don’t think he quite deserved that outburst.”

“There you are!” The pair both jump as the harsh voice of Nigel rings out behind them. “Come back inside before you catch your death! You ought to know better, Mr. Blythe!” Ah, he’s back to ‘Mr. Blythe’ now. Gilbert can’t bring himself to feel guilty about his escape – not only has the air cleared his mind but he’d been able to see that girl on the lower deck, and even just looking upon her for one moment has bolstered his spirits.

“I think I too shall take up smoking.” He impulsively whispers into Winnie’s hair as they head inside, feeling like himself for the first time since they’ve boarded the Titanic. The shocked look she throws over her shoulder is only half fake, and the grin Gilbert feels overtake his face is entirely real _._ They both break out into giggles and are scolded by Nigel once more, but neither of them mind.

The peace of mind is not to last.

\--

The afternoon leading up to supper is quiet – Gilbert and Winnie are separated for the time being, but that just gives Gilbert plenty of time to spend with his books. Nobody bothers him for hours, not even the maid, and it’s the most alone time he’s had since the funeral. The reminder of his father’s death smarts, but not as much as it would were he around the Roses and their endless false platitudes. Well, that’s not quite fair to say – Winnie isn’t good with sympathy and has never even tried, which Gilbert appreciates. Mr. and Mrs. Rose, however, are overwhelming in their simpering pity – sometimes it feels like Gilbert might drown in all their shallow ‘comforts’. To be able to mourn his father in his own mind is a kindness Gilbert never would have thought he’d need, but he’s glad to take it now that the occasion has arisen.

He sheds no tears but instead sits silently in his cabin until the maid arrives to summon him for supper, imagining that his father is here with him, lying on top of the comforters among the books. Gilbert is sure his father wouldn’t approve of the Titanic in all her ostentatious glory – the man always disapproved of wasting things. Despite being a man of wealth himself, John Blythe never had much respect for the trappings of it. He preferred to live in a humble home in the countryside, where he donated as much as his money as he could, right up until his death.

As he gets dressed for the formal supper ahead of him, Gilbert looks in the mirror at the fine clothing provided for him by the Rose’s. His father would hate the suit he’s wearing, and the knowledge makes the collar seem a little tighter around Gilbert’s neck. It feels like a noose, poised to tighten at any moment.

Not even Winnie can drag him from his thoughts when she comes to fetch him from his cabin. Oh, she tries, but not even her most inappropriate jokes can gather more than a distracted nod from him. Gilbert’s too engrossed with the way the walls seem to be closing in on him to pay her any mind.

Like lunch, they’re seated at a table in the middle of the room, well away from any windows. Maybe the view would’ve calmed Gilbert’s mind, but he’s instead surrounded on all sides. Not only in the extravagant décor but in the over-the-top jewelry that hangs from women’s necks and the pocket watches the men wave around every couple of minutes, like they’ve somehow forgotten the time since the last time they checked. All the noise they create mixes with the clattering of dishes and the click of heels upon wood until Gilbert can no longer hear the conversation happening at their table – he just can’t bring himself to focus on one sound. Luckily all the words are meaningless and the smiles fake, so Gilbert’s not missing out on anything of substance. Maybe Winnie places her hand on his thigh under the table or maybe it’s a complete stranger; both are the same to Gilbert right now.

Does no one else feel this suffocating, numbing weight in the air? A quick look around the room at the faces Gilbert manages to focus on shows that no, no one else seems to feel the same presence that has taken residence in his lungs. He’s surprised that he’s even able to breathe.

As he sits at that table listening to the dull cacophony of sounds around him, suddenly the question that’s plagued Gilbert since he stepped foot aboard the Titanic is answered.

It’s like he can see into the future – he can see himself, sitting at a table like this every night for the rest of his life, surrounded by people who lie through their perfect teeth as they laugh at his jokes. Gilbert sees Winnie, beautifully unhappy in family portraits that, over the years, slowly gain dogs and children on the floor around the married couple. He sees himself getting worn down by Nigel’s insistence and Mrs. Rose’s disapproval until he gives up his dreams and becomes nothing more than the next Mr. Rose. It is this last that feels like it strikes Gilbert clean through the heart – as he sees the death of his family name and the destruction of his father’s dreams for him, it feels like Gilbert is watching his father die a second death. 

Suddenly everything is too loud, too _much_. Mrs. Barry’s voice grinds on his ears and Nigel’s laugh makes him nauseous. Winnie’s concerned tone brings tears to Gilbert’s eyes although he doesn’t understand what she’s saying – he wishes it was his father sitting next to him instead.

Gilbert can barely see them past the tears in his eyes but suddenly the knives on the table that he’d barely noticed before are very enticing. His fingers itch where they’ve taken up a death grip on the edge of his jacket – Gilbert wants that knife, he _needs_ it. A waiter comes by and collects everyone’s plates and cutlery before Gilbert can do something stupid, like snatch up the blade and hide it until he’s alone in his room.

The rest of supper is a blur – one minute Gilbert is sitting in the dining room as it feels like his world is ending, and the next he’s running down the deck of this ship, hot tears running down his cheeks. Vaguely he remembers the feeling of books in his hands as the threw them into walls and tore pages from their bindings, but that’s all only a hazy image. He runs into someone on the way but they’re nothing more than a dark shape in the low light. His mind is so blank he’s not sure if he apologizes – he doesn’t even know where he’s running, just that his feet are taking him _somewhere_. The Atlantic wind that had been only cool this afternoon is now bitingly sharp against his cheeks and ears. The pain it brings is the only thing keeping Gilbert even remotely grounded.

Then the end of the ship is in view, and Gilbert knows where he’s going. The deck in this area is empty and Gilbert can’t remember which class it belongs to, if he ever knew. Not one person he’d passed or bumped into has come after him, and Gilbert is nothing but grateful for it.

The cold metal of the railing stings his palms as he carefully climbs over it, as does the texture of the rope he grabs to keep his balance. It’s an oversight to have this rail so short, and if Gilbert had any plans of surviving this night he’d go back and say such. But he doesn’t, so he barely spares it a thought.

As he stands hanging over the dark Atlantic Ocean, held only by the strength of his bare hands and the sturdiness of the railing he grips, Gilbert feels like this is where he supposed to be. Suddenly his mind and body are back together, like he’d been here all along since supper began. That invisible precipice he’d felt himself standing over is now physical and Gilbert _relishes_ the feeling. This is something he’s in control of – this is _his_ choice.

He is just about to let himself slip when a thought hits him – is this what his father would want? It’s enough to bring him to a pause and tighten his grip on the railing. Part of him doesn’t care, because he’s been living his life for his father since he died, and right now he’s _tired_. Gilbert yearns desperately to be selfish, to forget Winnie and his father. The tasks they ask of him are so large, so _vast_ that Gilbert feels guilty about them whether alive or dead, so what does it matter? Oddly, it’s his promise to Minnie-May that truly stills him.

Gilbert imagines her going to breakfast only to find him missing and it is a truly terrible thought. The little girl had been so sweet and childish, untarnished by the wealth that had overtaken her parents. Gilbert had felt a kindred soul in her, as sad as that is, and he doesn’t know if he can leave her alone with that savage crowd. Of course, she has her sister Diana, and even Winnie will be at breakfast tomorrow, but Gilbert’s mind is too full to remember that.

Picturing Minnie-May’s pout and the small strength of her finger wrapped around his gives just enough pause for someone to sneak up behind him.

“Don’t do it.” They say, startling him from his thoughts, and Gilbert whips around to see who it is.

The redheaded girl from earlier stands hesitantly on the deck a few feet behind him, like if she comes any closer he’ll jump (and Gilbert realizes that he just might). Suddenly the angel metaphor seems all the more apt.

“S-stay back!” He cries out weakly, words stuttering as his teeth chatter together. Unlike the girl, who’s wearing so many clothes Gilbert is surprised she’s even able to walk, he’d run out of his cabin without his coat and at some point the cold has caught up with him. “Don’t come any closer!”

The girl hesitates before taking a step closer.

“Come on, just give me your hand and I’ll pull you over.” She says, and Gilbert wants to, _oh_ how he wants to. He wants to hold her hand just as much as he wants to let go of this rail and the two conflicting desires war in his mind.

His grip loosens as she takes another step forward, and Gilbert doesn’t know whether he’s going to reach for her hand or let go completely.

He looks down once more at the tempting violence of the waves below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i appreciate all the comments!!! thanks for the support :^]  
> but stop asking if they're gonna die bc im not gonna tell u lol!! >:3c 
> 
> sowwy if this feels ooc - i just think gilbert loves kids ya know 
> 
> also [Bellamy_is_life](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellamy_is_life/pseuds/Bellamy_is_life) made an [aesthetic](https://twitter.com/GilbertsBlake/status/1208382628107345920?s=19) for this story thats gorgeous and you should really check it out ;]


	5. Chapter 5: A Picture of Tragedy

The night sky above the open ocean is one of the most glorious sights Anne’s ever seen. The sky is clearer than she’s ever seen in it be in any city, and the vast space on either side of the Titanic makes it feel like she’s floating in the heavens. The bench below her head isn’t soft but Anne doesn’t mind, as it’s still comfortable enough to let her retreat almost entirely into her imagination. She’s sure it would be even more comfortable if she wasn’t bundled up like a toddler on its first winter day, or if she could actually move her limbs.

Because for all the Jerry likes to tease her for every single thing, he’s also the biggest worrier she’s ever met. When she’d told him her plan of taking a walk after supper Jerry had insisted that she wear just about every piece of clothing they own between the two of them. And, while Anne is now most definitely warm, she also feels like she’s about to drown in clothing. She dreads the task of lifting herself from the bench, as it is surely going to be a herculean task. Sleeping out here doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea, not with the stars to keep her company and with Anne as warm as she is, bundled up like this.

She’s distracted from her musings by the sound of someone sprinting by, accompanied with violent and painful sobbing. Anne’s up from her seat in a flash, faster than she would’ve thought possible. As she comes up to the end of the deck she’s surprised to see it’s the handsome man from earlier, wearing clothes utterly unfit for such a night.

He makes quite the picture – the sharp Atlantic wind has rosied his pale cheeks and tousled his dark hair in an unwittingly beautiful way. His eyes are closed and, despite the tears streaming down his cheeks and the violent sobs Anne had heard from him before, he looks peaceful in a morbid, tragic way. Though it may be blasphemous, the way he hangs from the rails reminds Anne of the paintings of Jesus she’d seen in the orphanage – or maybe a woman, carved on the front of a great ship. For a moment Anne isn’t sure what he’s going to do, confused by the pathos of the moment confusing her, but as she watches his grip loosen then tighten then loosen again, she realizes he means to jump.

Suddenly her feet feel frozen to the deck – no matter how much she wants to step forward and beg him not to jump, she just can’t. Instead she watches emotions tumble across his face and berates herself for her inability to help. It’s only when his face straightens into determination and his hand starts to slip that she can step forward, and she’s already worried it’s too late. 

“Don’t do it.” Anne finally manages to say, and it is such a woefully pitiful sound that Anne nearly joins him on the railing. Really, that’s all she can manage?

“S-stay back!” He cries out weakly in response. Anne’s surprised she even manages to understand him with his teeth chattering so hard. “Don’t come any closer!”

Despite his words Anne does step forward once more, relieved when the man doesn’t move at the action.

“Come on, just give me your hand and I’ll pull you over.” She says, holding out her hand. His eyes follow the motion, but he makes no move to take her hand. Instead he looks back down at the waters below and Anne’s heart skips a beat.

“G-go away!” He calls out again. When he looks back to her his eyes are wide and pupils huge, like that of a wild animal. Telltale tear tracks make lines down his cheeks but there are no fresh tears. Anne can only say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I can’t.” She says, a plan coming to her. “If you let go, I’ll have to jump in there after you. I’m involved now, and you can ask Jerry about it; there’s really no getting rid of me once I’m involved. I’m like a flea.” She nods like this makes total sense and starts stripping off her layers, once by one. She can’t save anyone bundled up like she is; the man would be a mile behind them before she even made it to the railing. It takes an embarrassingly long time to get down to the long shirt she’d borrowed from Jerry, but she’s sure that, with the state the man’s in, he hasn’t noticed. The wind wastes no time in biting through the cloth and into her skin – she’s surprised he’s even managed to stay out here as long as he has.

The look he gives her after a moment of processing is so shocked that Anne almost laughs, overcome with the absurdity of the situation.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He says, as if _he’s_ the rational one in this situation. “There’s nothing you could to help me down there – you’d only get yourself killed.”

Anne shrugs, reaching down to untie her boots. “I’ve always been a good swimmer. Besides, that fall wouldn’t kill us – I’m more concerned about that water. I can only imagine how cold it is. I’d hate to die to hypothermia, as that’s hardly romantical at all, but if that’s what it takes…” He continues to stare at her so Anne goes to elaborate. “Hypothermia is when-“

“I know what hypothermia is.” He snaps, and Anne flinches back a little at the bite in his words.

“Sorry!” she says sheepishly. “I just assumed you were… an indoor man, I suppose.” Ferreting the new tidbit of information away for later (and hoping that’s there’s going to _be_ a later) Anne takes another step forward. She wracks her brain for something else to say, something to distract the man.

“I fell in water like this once before, you know.” She nods at his questioning look. “I was quite young then, but I don’t think I could ever forget it. You see, I was working for a widow who’d recently been left alone with her three children, all of whom were under five. She was constantly drunk and not much of a help with anything – most of _her_ time was spent drinking while _I_ mothered her kids, despite the fact that I was still a child myself.” Anne feels herself getting distracted and shakes herself, not going down the dark path she can feel forming in her mind. Glancing over at the man she can see that he’s focused on her instead of the ocean, so she continues. “It was wintertime and one of them, the eldest, had wandered out onto the lake. I hollered and yelled at her but no matter what I said she wouldn’t move; she just stood in the center of the ice, sobbing, frozen like a statue. I had no choice to get her off the ice myself. Mere seconds after I’d pushed her onto land the ice cracked and broke, dropping me into the water below. It was like nothing I’d ever felt – it was like knives, stabbing into every part of my body at once. My lungs were screaming, and my head was pounding, and suddenly I couldn’t muster up a single thought; it was like I’d never been able to think at all. Everything was focused on the pain, _everything_.” Anne looks down at the ocean herself, caught up in her story. She gulps. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to feeling that again.”

Anne trails into silence until the only sound to be heard is the man’s ragged breathes, so loud that Anne can’t even hear the crash of the ocean anymore. He’s still looking at her, so intensely that Anne can barely bring herself to meet his gaze.

“I just want to be with Mother and Father again.” He suddenly sobs, so hard that Anne feels her own chest hurt. This doesn’t feel random or like a sudden break of his mind – she told him about the lake, and now he’s telling her _this_. “They’re _left_ me here and I don’t _care_ anymore! The Rose’s can have my fucking money, I just want to go _home_ …” The man trails off into pitiful sobs (but there are no tears, like he’s somehow run out of them) and Anne can’t help but take another step forward until her hand grazes his arm. He doesn’t flinch away; Anne takes this as a good sign.

“Believe me,” she says, “I’ve been in this place before, where it seems like you can almost _feel_ their hand reaching out from the other side with all the answers you could desire, and I’m sorry, but it’s not real. This isn’t the answer, for either of us.” At the return of his incredulous look Anne squares her shoulders and looks back at him determinedly. “If you jump, I jump. Don’t think I won’t.”

There’s a tense moment where he stares back down into the water and Anne thinks that this is it, she really might die today jumping after a man who she’s never even met before, but then he’s turning to look at her once again, eyes suddenly more clear.

“You’re crazy.” He says in disbelief, and Anne’s too grateful to be hearing something other than painful hysteria in his voice that she isn’t even insulted.

“Well, I’m sure most people would agree with you, but, with all due respect, I’m not the one staring death in the eyes right now. Please, don’t do this.” Anne is practically begging by now. She let’s go of his arm to hesitantly reach her hand out towards him, and the relief she feels when he grasps it firmly is so intense it almost knocks her off her feet. He grips her hand tight as he carefully turns around on the slick railing. The way they’re clutching each other feels oddly like the dancing lessons Anne had received when she was younger – she tries not the let the feeling of his hand in hers distract her.

“I’m Anne,” She says breathlessly, a relieved grin on her face. “Anne with an e.”

The man chuckles, the sound halfway a sob. “Gilbert Blythe.” He manages to choke out.

“Well, Mr. Blythe, let’s get you on the right side of the railing.”

Gilbert nods shakily and looks down at his feet, carefully lifting them to climb up the railing. But no amount of care can make up for the fact that his shoes, as clearly expensive as they are, are not meant to be worn on slick, metal railings on the back of a ship. Just as he’s lifted himself up Gilbert is falling back down, now dangling only by the grip he has on Anne’s hand.

He screams, and the sound chills Anne to the bone.

“I got you!” She yells back. There’s no way she can sound calm, not _now_. “I-I got you, come on!” Anne tries to communicate to Gilbert that he needs to pull himself up or get a leg up or _something_ because she’s just not strong enough to do it herself, and she doesn’t have the breath to say so. Either she lets go of his hand or she goes over with him; she can’t keep him up like this. The only reason she hasn’t yet gone tumbling into the waves below is the railing cutting into her stomach – she’s sure to have a gruesome bruise there tomorrow.

For a moment it seems like whatever darkness had prompted Gilbert out here is going to win. He looks at the white knuckle grip Anne has on his hand and the way her feet slip more by the second and Anne can see in his eyes that he’s thinking of letting go, of sparing them both the trouble.

“Don’t you _dare_ let go, Gilbert Blythe!” Anne screeches with all the force and anger she can manage. “You get back up here now, come on! _I’m not letting go_!” Somewhere behind her Anne can hear a man yelling and the sound of thundering footsteps – _finally_ help is coming, but there’s no way they’ll be quick enough, not if Gilbert decides to let go.

Finally, _finally_ Gilbert nods and starts to pull himself up. Anne doesn’t let go of his hand, although he no longer needs the support. His fancy dress shoes are long gone on a one-way descent to the bottom of the ocean, and his feet have enough grip to climb over the railing. As he climbs over the very top rail his foot clips the bar and sends him tumbling forward – Anne doesn’t have enough time to let go and thus ends up pulling the man on top of herself, accidentally cushioning his fall.

“Oof!” She exclaims as all the air is knocked out of her. The deck of the Titanic is cold on her back but, strangely enough, the feeling is a relief – it means she’s no longer standing at the railing, hoping she won’t have to jump into the Atlantic Ocean. Anne can’t help but laugh, part genuine amusement and part hysterical relief. Gilbert joins in (his laugh is all hysterical).

After a moment they lapse into silence, and Anne finds herself falling into his deep brown eyes. They’re red and swollen with tears but that makes then no less beautiful as they gaze back at her. It’s peculiar to see them so close to Anne’s own after watching them reflect the Atlantic’s violence only minutes ago. The two are so entranced in this strange moment that neither hear the clattering footsteps of the officers grow closer until they’re right on top of them.

Anne is tiny, she knows she is. No amount of fattening food at the Cuthbert’s could make up for years of near starvation in her formative years. She’s grown a few inches but that’s all – she’s still just as skinny and pale at nineteen as she was at fourteen. Usually this works in her favour; people are more likely to take pity on a starving orphan if she looks helpless and weak. But right now, as Gilbert’s knees bracket one of her legs and she wears nothing but Jerry’s shirt over a thin dress with the detritus of her former outfit scattered around them, it only serves to make her out to be more the victim in the officers’ eyes. The tear tracts on her cheeks, from tears she doesn’t remember, surely don’t help.

Gilbert leans back (Anne doesn’t think about how she misses his warmth against the Atlantic wind), lifting his hands in a calming gesture, but he’s waited too long.

“You!” The man in front barks at Gilbert. “Stand back, and don’t move an inch!” He watches Gilbert like a hawk until he stands before turning to one of the other officers. “Fetch the master of arms.”

Under threat of Gilbert’s arrest Anne finally manages to find her voice.

“Wait!” She calls, hurriedly picking herself off the ground and fixing her clothes. “I know what you think happened, but I promise you, it was nothing of the sort. This man,” Anne gestures to Gilbert under the suspicious eye of the officer, “ _saved_ me! You see, I was leaning over the railing trying to get a look at the- the, um…” Anne feigns ignorance, trying to play into the image the officer no doubt has of her in his mind. She twirls her finger in the air, mimicking the motion of the propeller blades.

“The propellers.” Gilbert inserts helpfully, and Anne nods at him in thanks. The knowing glint in his eye tells her that he can tell what she’s doing.

“Yes, the propellers! I’d heard they were _three times_ the height of a man and I just had to see for myself! But when I get excited I tend to forget where I am and well…” Anne hopes the officer confuses the red chill in her cheeks for a blush as she tries her best to look bashful. “…I slipped. I would have gone right over into the water had Mr. Blythe here not saved me!” She flutters her eyelashes and tires to look suitably scared for the officer – the almost-hysteria in her voice isn’t hard to conjure up, given she’d been feeling it only moments ago.

Gilbert nods along with her explanation, but Anne can tell the officer is having a hard time believing it. The scattered clothes are something not accounted for in her story, and despite all the power of Anne’s imagination she’s too frazzled to think of an explanation for them.

“No reward is necessary, ma’am.” Gilbert suddenly says in a confident voice, so different from the hysterical man she’d seen before. “My fiancée and I, Winifred Rose, have no need for your money. It is enough to simply see you safe.”

Anne doesn’t recognize the name he drops but the officer must, for his eyes widen and the colour drains from his face. It probably helps that he’d mentioned his fiancée, for all that it makes something in Anne’s heart hurt. Realistically, Anne knows that a man with a fiancée isn’t any less likely to assault someone, but it sure sounds that way on paper.

“Oh, Mr. Rose, I-I apologize.” The officer stammers. Gilbert waves his apologies away with a neutral smile.

“Mr. Rose is my father in law, call me Mr. Blythe. You have nothing to apologize for. I understand what this must have looked like, and I appreciate your prompt reaction. The employees of the White Star Line seem to be nothing less than exceedingly capable, as you have proved tonight.”

The praise he lays on seems a little thick to Anne, but it works on the officer, who waves away the master of arms when he comes running with handcuffs.

“Let’s get you both inside – I’ll call your fiancée, Mr. Blythe, and let her know you’re alright.”

\--

Anne finds it somewhat ironic (and very insulting) that as soon as they find out Gilbert’s name, they immediately forget that she’s even here. _Gilbert_ is the one who gets blankets placed gently around his shoulders, and nobody even asks if Anne needs anyone called. Of course, she’s glad Gilbert’s getting attention because he’s the one who _really_ went through something tonight, but it’s the principle of the thing! Anne’s even left to collect her clothing from the deck on her own and is almost left behind as they sweep Gilbert away. Neither of them even manages a word to each other before the older man Anne had seen before arrives, followed by a stout, blonde young man who appears to be Anne’s age.

“Gilbert!” The older man exclaims, rushing forward to peer into Gilbert’s face. “I’m so glad you’re alright my boy! Where’s the… _girl_?” He pauses, like he’d been intending on saying something different before he caught himself.

The way he says ‘girl’ in such a tone of disgust tells Anne all she needs to know. Gilbert doesn’t look happy about the near slip-up either, but he doesn’t do anything other than nod his head to where Anne sits.

“Ah! Miss, I am _so_ glad Gilbert was here to help; he truly does us proud.” The false way the older man simpers almost makes Anne sick to her stomach. Luckily this seems to be all he has to say to her – just as soon as he’s arrived he’s spinning away, grabbing Gilbert’s elbow through the blanket and trying to steer him out of the room. “Come along, Gilbert, Winifred is worried sick.”

Anne expects that this is going to be the last she sees of Gilbert and mentally says goodbye, trying already to fortify herself against the disappoint she knows is coming. But, in a moment that feels like a miracle, just as the man is at the door, Gilbert speaks up.

“Please, Nigel, we can't just leave her like this. I dread to think of the way I’ve tarnished her reputation!” Anne doesn’t have a reputation to tarnish, she wants to say, but doesn’t. Gilbert probably already knows that. “Let me make it up to her, please.” Gilbert pleads, brown eyes begging in such a pitiful manner that Anne doesn’t know how this Nigel could possibly refuse. Her own heartstrings are pulled, and Gilbert isn’t even _looking_ at her.

Nigel looks disgusted at the idea but, after a moment of thought, quickly schools his features. “Of course!” He cries, clapping his hands and turning to Anne – the sneer on his face appears only once he’s facing away from Gilbert. “Please, join us for supper tomorrow night, miss. It would be our pleasure.” Anne isn’t even given a chance to reply before he’s walking away, snapping for the other boy he came with to follow him. His shoulder hits Anne’s as he leaves, and she tries not to wince as it jostles her aching torso – she can tell from the sadistic look on his face that it’s what he wants from her.

Gilbert doesn’t say another word but he does smile at her warmly before he’s ushered out. It’s different than the few Anne’s seen before – it’s not fake or tinged with hysteria. It’s a beautiful, kind smile, and Anne can’t help but smile back. This evening has been horrific, but that smile almost makes it feel like it was worth it. She finds herself hesitantly excited for the upcoming supper – it’s a chance to see Gilbert again, after all.

Now if only she could explain it that way to Jerry…

\--

“You _what_?!” Jerry exclaims, eyes bulging out his head and his hands squeezing almost painfully from where they had been futilely trying to rub heat into Anne’s cold shoulders.

“Sh!” Anne replies, looking around the hallway outside their room to make sure no one was woken by Jerry’s outburst. “I saved that man from the first class deck we saw earlier. Oh, Jerry, he was such a sight standing on the railings and I really thought he was going to jump, and I-I…” Anne trails off, the emotions from the night finally catching up with her as tears form in her eyes. She knows Jerry isn’t going to like what she says next, and she briefly considers lying to him. But Jerry has never lied to her, and Anne can’t break that trust. She _won’t_ break that trust. “I told him that if he jumped, I would jump, too. I was so frightened… But it’s fine!” She tacks on belatedly as Jerry’s face drains of colour. “He didn’t! I pulled him back over the railing and everyone is fine-“ Her words are muffled as Jerry jerkily pulls her to his chest, his cheek resting on top of her head.

“Anne, you can’t fucking promise things like that!” Anne stills – Jerry never swears, not if he can help it and especially not in English. He must really be shaken up, just from the short description she’s given so far.

“I-I’m sorry, Jerry, I just wanted to help him.” She replies, returning the hug tightly. For a moment they both savour the feeling. “Besides, I’m _fine_! Look, not a scratch!” Reluctantly she pulls away, doing a little twirl and almost tripping on the pile of Jerry’s clothes that have been dropped and forgotten on the floor.

“Your lips are _blue_ , you idiot.” Jerry replies, but this time he’s not as serious. His eyes are still slightly red, but an amused smile sits on his lips. “Probably because you were only wearing a _dress_ in _April_ on the _Atlantic_.” Anne rolls her eyes and Jerry tugs on one of her braids before pulling her and the pile of clothing back into the cabin. Felix and Jonas’ gentle snores are the only sound in the cabin – thank goodness they hadn’t been woken.

Jerry doesn’t even give Anne time to change into her nightclothes before he’s pulling her onto the bottom bunk with him. Anne doesn’t question it, instead snuggling up against him as he pulls the blanket up to her chin. Anne and Jerry have been sharing a bed for as long as she can remember, ever since he confessed that he found it hard to sleep alone (because he always shared with his sisters at home). Her presence is no longer necessary for him to get a good sleep, but his warmth is comforting, and they’d continued to share whenever one needed it ever since the Cuthbert’s deaths. Tonight, Anne is grateful as his body heat helps chase the remaining Atlantic chill out of her, and his arms help soothe the shaking she hadn’t known she was doing.

Suddenly, Anne remembers something.

“Oh!” She says. She tries to pop up into a sitting position but Jerry, who’s already half asleep, won’t let her. “I forgot! I’ve been invited to have supper with the Rose’s tomorrow, in first class!” Jerry groans and buries his face into the pillow they’re sharing.

“You, in first class? Sounds like a nightmare. You don’t even have anything nice to wear, Anne.” He replies sleepily. Anne punches him lightly in the shoulder, irked that he’s ruining her excitement.

“Oh, shut up.” She huffs, unable to argue with him. Jerry just chuckles.

“Goodnight, Anne.”

“Night, Jerry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew another chapter posted! school started again last week which hopefully means i'll be writing more (as backwards as that sounds) and thus posting more
> 
> in case you were wondering the update schedule - there isn't one. i'm always two chapters ahead - so as soon as i finish a chapter, i post the one i wrote two before it. for example, i just finished writing chapter seven, which is why im posting chapter five. 
> 
> comments and kudos greatly appreciated, thanks for all the support so far! :]


	6. Chapter 6: A Picture of Heart

The world feels strangely sharp on the way back to his cabin – suddenly Gilbert is aware of everything, down to the condensation on the walls. The click of Nigel’s heels on the floor hurts his ears and it feels like there’s a bubble, pushing him away from everyone else. He almost flinches out of his skin when Nigel stops abruptly in front of him.

“Gilbert, your cabin.” Nigel says, gesturing to the door they’d arrived at without Gilbert noticing. He notes that they’re back on a first name basis but doesn’t have the ability to categorize that information. “I will go and fetch Winifred, I’m sure she’ll want to hear about your adventure.”

After Nigel and Billy leave it’s all Gilbert can do to make his way into the room and sit numbly on his bed. Thankfully the thoughts from before are gone, but he’s not sure what he’s thinking, or what he’s _supposed_ to be thinking. The whole night plays through his mind on a loop, particularly the moments when Anne had appeared. Somehow, she made the night not so dark and terrifying – Gilbert thinks warmly of the way she’d held his hand and how it had felt to press against her like he did, however unintentionally. The places where Gilbert had touched her still feel warm to him, no matter how impossible that is.

The way Nigel had looked down upon Anne makes Gilbert’s blood boil, the clearest emotion he’s felt all evening. Him and Billy had leered at her, and Nigel clearly thought that inviting her to supper was going to be a wonderful show, like she’s nothing more than a freak in a circus. Gilbert can see why; while he’d thought that she looked magnificent in her simple dress, Anne is clearly third class, and it’s doubtful she owns anything that would be up to par for the sharks that frequent the first class dining area.

“Gilbert?” Winnie calls from the entryway, startling Gilbert from his thoughts. Normally this wouldn’t garner much of a reaction, but right now Gilbert isn’t exactly feeling normal. So, instead of flinching slightly, he nearly jumps out of his skin, only prevented from knocking the lamp off his nightstand by the blanket he still wears, restricting his limbs from flying out in all directions. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

Winnie rushes over and, embarrassingly, Gilbert’s eyes fill with tears once more as she sits on the bed beside him. The kind concern on her face is too much with Gilbert feeling as raw from earlier as he is. Winnie looks panicked and reaches over to wipe the tears from his eyes.

“Why, what’s wrong? Is my company that unpleasant?” Winnie jokes, but Gilbert can tell she’s truly concerned. He opens his mouth to answer but all that comes out is a sob. Hasn’t he cried _enough_ tonight? Winnie is patient – she just strokes his hair and guides his head over to rest on her shoulder. The contact is grounding, and the quiet comfort is what allows Gilbert to tell the true, full story once he’s calmed down.

“- and now I’m here.” Gilbert finishes, idly reaching up to rub the lingering tears from his eyes. He hasn’t looked at Winnie once throughout his story, and he’s scared to see the look on her face.

Silence falls. It’s tense, and Gilbert can’t help but break it – it only reminds him of the loud silence that had wrapped around his ears on the edge of the deck.

“Please say something.” He whispers, finally lifting his head to turn and look at Winnie. All the blood has drained from her face, and Gilbert can see evidence of at least one tear on her face. His heart hurts at the sight – he can’t believe he made _Winnie_ cry.

“…Was she pretty?” Winnie replies after what feels like an age. At Gilbert’s confused look she rolls her eyes, and Gilbert is glad to see some of her attitude coming back. “The girl – your angel?” She bumps his shoulder playfully as Gilbert furrows his brow – had he really described Anne that way?

“…Yes.” He finally admits, blushing faintly. Winnie’s grin grows wider, and some of the colour comes back to her cheeks. “She’s one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen. Her hair is red, like fire or maybe fox’s fur. Her freckles, _oh_ her _freckles_ …” Gilbert trails off with his face in his hands, still a little shaky from before and therefore unable to get his immense emotions into order so he can find the words to describe his saviour. Winnie is no help – she just laughs and drapes herself over his back.

“The way she looked at me – God, she said she’d jump after me and I _believed_ it. You should’ve seen the strength in the way she spoke, Winnie. I think you’d get along.” Gilbert finally manages to finish. Winnie has stilled, but Gilbert’s not sure whether that’s because of the reminder of what had happened tonight or because of his clear attraction to Anne. She _is_ his fiancée after all.

“Father wanted me to give this to you.” Winnie finally says after a semi-uncomfortable silence. As soon as her weight is off his back Gilbert is sitting ramrod straight, dreading the thought of whatever _Nigel_ could want to give him. The box Winnie pulls out from behind her gives no clue (and how had he missed her carrying that in?). “Something about a wedding present and insurance or something.”

Gilbert’s hands still from where they’d already started opening the box. Insurance? That doesn’t sound good…

He’s not sure what he’s expecting (maybe one of the cigars Nigel is so fond of smoking?), but the pocket watch inside _definitely_ isn’t it. It’s the most expensive he’s ever seen – the whole thing seems to be inlaid with (or maybe _made_ of) gold, and what Gilbert can only assume are diamonds lay around the edges. In the center is the largest stone Gilbert’s ever seen, and probably the reason why the whole thing weighs so much. He can’t help the way his mouth gapes open at the sight, and he half expects Winnie to laugh at him; no such sound comes.

“I-I don’t know what to say. This must have cost a _fortune_!” Gilbert exclaims, not sure that he’s quite thankful, more-so shocked. Winnie doesn’t look happy.

“Yes, I imagine it has. That’s _the Heart of the Ocean_ – Father, like an _idiot_ , took it from the original necklace and turned it into a _pocket watch_. A pocket watch!” Gilbert can’t help but smile at the way Winnie explodes – he can tell she’s been biting her tongue since she got in here. “That stone in your _garish_ watch has been on the neck on _Louis XVI_ , as in the _King_ of bloody France! They called it the heart of the ocean, as if the _actual_ heart of the ocean would be so clear and gaudy! My father’s poor taste sas only made it worse. I hate the look of the thing.” Winnie huffs, eyes darting down as she traces the pattern in the bedspread. Gilbert waits patiently, knowing the look in her eyes means she has something more to say.

“…It feels like some kind of offering, like my Father is _selling_ me or something.” She looks at him guiltily. “I know that’s not really what this is but… I think he can see the way you look at me, or, to be more accurate, the way you _don’t_ look at me. This is his way of bribing you, he just doesn’t know your heart at all and about as subtle as an elephant. Anybody who’s spoken to you more than once can tell you aren’t one for lavish wealth or garish jewelry. You are a man we are all unworthy of, Gilbert Blythe.” Winnie reaches over to take his hand and Gilbert’s heart clenches painfully in his chest.

“Winnie don’t say that! If there’s anyone who’s unworthy here, it’s _me_ of _you_. I’m not half the man you deserve.” He admits. Winnie just looks at him with sad eyes, and goes to respond but Gilbert continues before she can – he is _not_ willing to accept anything else on the topic.

“No matter how much I wish I was now, in another life I think I could have been desperately in love with you… although I doubt I’d ever catch your attention.” Gilbert teases, hoping to bring a smile back to her face. Winnie giggles in response, and Gilbert contemplates just leaving things there, not giving word to the unspoken understanding between them. But this is closer to Winnie than he’s ever felt – he wants to be _honest_ with her for once. Life doesn't seem so certain anymore, despite the fact that Gilbert has no current plans to try and jump off the ship again, and he doesn't want to leave things between them unspoken. He can only hope she’ll offer the same gift in return, for it would be much more precious than any Heart of the Ocean. 

“Well,” Gilbert begins, “maybe if I was born a woman, although I’m not sure that is how the universe works. I’m afraid I would just be doomed to pine after you for an eternity.”

His tone hasn’t changed from a light, teasing lilt, but Winnie stills, nonetheless. Gilbert is hyper aware of the ticking of the clock as the seconds pass, already coming up with excuses and ways to fix things should this have been the worst possible thing to say.

“…More’s the pity.” Winnie finally responds, voice cracking slightly. She tries for teasing and she almost manages it. “You, Gilbert Blythe, would make a very handsome woman. I’m not sure I could keep my hands off you, if that were the case.”

“Why thank you, Winnie!” Gilbert says teasingly, reaching over to poke her in the ribs. She flinches away giggling. The two spend send a couple of moments giggling like children before the tone turns somber once more.

“You don’t have to be unhappy in this marriage, Gilbert.” Winnie says, a small frown on her face when Gilbert goes to interrupt. “No, don’t lie to me, I know this isn’t truly what you want, how could it be? No one wants to be married to a woman who will never love him, and I know you do not like my father. In truth, sometimes I find myself feeling the same…” Gilbert wraps his arm around Winnie comfortingly as she looks away in guilt at her admission.

“Winnie, you are my _best friend_. I doubt our marriage would be unhappy – how could it be?” Gilbert replies. Winnie smiles at him gratefully.

“I’m glad you think so highly of me – you’re the best friend I’ve ever had as well, but you know damn well what I mean. Few want to be trapped in a loveless marriage, and I _know_ you Gilbert. You’re a romantic at heart, and eventually our wedding bands would chafe at your skin.” Winnie pauses, peering into his face for a moment. “Mistresses are not uncommon among those of our rank, you must know that by now; we’ve even seen a few onboard this ship.” She finally continues – Gilbert almost chokes on his spit at what she’s suggesting. “I hope you are not _too_ averse to the idea. I was hoping that, well…” She trails off, but Gilbert knows what she means.

For Winnie, a mistress is her _only_ chance to be with someone she loves. Another man might not allow her the privilege – not everyone is so kind to a woman who loves women. For Gilbert this marriage is a prison, regardless of how much he likes Winnie. For Winnie, this marriage is her best chance at a happy future. He hates the idea of having to keep love secret, but he can understand why Winnie finds the idea appealing.

“…I can’t say I’ve thought of it before now.” Gilbert admits, rubbing her arm softly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m averse.” Winnie looks up at him with hope sparkling in his eyes, and Gilbert can’t help but smile. “Once you actually meet someone, we can discuss it more, but just know that I have no objections.” Winnie elbows his side.

“That goes for you too, Gilbert! Next time you see that redheaded angel of yours I insist you introduce yourself properly. If you like the girl that much, don’t let her out of your sight.” Gilbert blushes and opens his mouth to object, but Winnie shuts him up with a wagging finger. “That’s an order! Oh, you said she was coming to supper, right?” Gilbert nods, and Winnie starts to bounce in excitement. “That’s perfect! You can introduce me to her – who knows, maybe I will steal her away.” Winnie winks, and Gilbert rolls his eyes.

“Go to bed, Winnie.” He says, shoving her gently. “It’s late, and we all know what you’re like when you don’t get enough sleep.” She giggles and shoves him back, but when she finally gets up from the bed it’s hesitant, worry in the lines of her face. She doesn't say anything, but it's obvious she doesn't trust him not to abscond in the middle of the night to another suicide attempt. Still, Gilbert’s heart warms at the concern.

“Winnie, your concern is warranted, but I’m fine.” He says softly, but still she remains. Finally, Gilbert relents, standing up briefly to slide beneath the covers of his bed. He holds one side open for Winnie. “Or you could stay here – the bed is certainly big enough for two, although I dread to think what people will say when they see you leaving my room tomorrow.”

“I daresay my father will be glad to hear those rumours!” She giggles.

Smiling, Winnie practically jumps on top of him as she leaps onto the bed. Gilbert’s still wearing his suit from supper, but he can’t be bothered to care. Right after the light is turned out his eyes start to droop, and he’s barely awake when Winnie whispers something into his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re still here.” She says, and Gilbert can only manage a soft wordless murmur in reply.

It’s one of the best sleeps he’s had since his father died.

\--

Gilbert was right last night about the rumours – there are more than a few whispers during breakfast about how _scandalous_ it is that him and Winnie spent the night together. It’s obvious what everyone thinks happened, not that Gilbert is surprised. Nigel almost seems to be glowing as he sips his tea smugly, eyeing Winnie and Gilbert like he can _see_ what they did last night (which was precisely _nothing_ ). Mrs. Rose looks like she’s swallowed something sour but, seeing as how that’s pretty much been her permanent expression for the last few days, Gilbert doesn’t pay her too much attention.

The Barry’s are just leaving as they arrive, but Gilbert still manages to steal a moment with Minnie-May. The little girl is so ecstatic to see him that any doubt he’s made the wrong choice evaporates – she truly is like a breath of fresh air.

“Gilbert!” She exclaims, running over (quickly followed by her mother, who is the only reason Gilbert doesn’t immediately get an armful of Minnie-May).

They only get to talk for a few minutes, and by talk Gilbert means Minnie-May babbles something to him about apple juice at top speed until her mother practically drags her away by the back of her dress. Gilbert hadn’t got two words in and he hadn’t understood the conversation at all, but the conversation had still been refreshing and the room feels much darker without Minnie-May’s bright eyes and chattering voice. Based on her mother’s shocked expression, he gets the impression she’s not normally so talkative.

Though the atmosphere doesn’t feel as choking as it did last night, Gilbert’s tolerance for it is still much lower than usual, and he finds himself yearning for the taste of outside air. When the Rose’s get up from the table, he clears his throat and gestures to the doorway leading outside.

“It looks like a fine morning outside; I think I shall go take a walk around deck.” Gilbert says. Nigel nods.

“Yes, that it does. Take Winnifred with you, I’m sure she could use the sunlight as well.” He says, and Winnie shakes her head.

“I’m sure I could, but Diana has invited me to her cabins for tea this afternoon and I would rather prepare for that, Father. Besides, it’s just the ocean, I’ve seen it a million times before. I’m sure Gilbert can handle himself.” She grins mischievously at Gilbert, and he _knows_ she’s got the wrong idea in her head. He tires to tell her silently that he really does just want a bit of fresh air, but Winnie doesn’t pick up on any of it. Instead she joins arms with her mother and then the three of them are off. Gilbert wastes no time in leaving the dining room that he has come to resent.

For a moment as he walks onto the deck all he can see is a dark sky and the path he’d taken to the back of the ship – for a step his feet follow the same path before he stops himself. Gilbert can feel the emotions from last night rising in his ribcage, threatening to choke the air from his lungs. A feeling of dread so intense that he almost brings his hands up to shield his face comes over him, but he can’t tell what he’s so afraid of. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a flash of red, and he whips his head around to follow it – it’s just the dress of little girl, running across the deck to her mother. And then, suddenly, he’s back, standing in the sun and the middle of the deck as a disgruntled woman tries to walk around him.

“Oh, I apologize!” He says hurriedly, stepping towards the railing so she can walk by. The grip he has on it feels like the only think keeping his shaking legs beneath him. He doesn’t pay attention to her answer, if she gives one, too absorbed in the view in front of him. The ocean looks different this morning, although Gilbert’s quite sure the change isn’t in the waters but in him.

No longer is he focusing on the violence of the waves or the darkness of its depths. Almost unconsciously he’d been looking at the ocean as an escape since he’d boarded the Titanic – a brutal escape, but an escape nonetheless. Now, with the reminder of Anne light on his heart, the ocean is blue and beautiful again – it looks like the ocean he’d often admired with Father, the one that they’d both loved so. Even the sun on his shoulders feels different, like it had never warmed him before. The edges of his vision are still dark but, as of right now, the light is winning. 

Gilbert takes a moment to take everything in, relishing the feeling of air in his lungs. It looks like Winnie was right, this won’t just be a walk around the deck. If only an imagined glimpse of her can wake Gilbert up like this, he wants nothing more right now than to see her.

Slowly he makes his way to the third class decks, walking patch to patch of sunlight, still relishing the warmth. His courage lasts him until he is walking down the stairs into the third class hold, and he is left wondering why he thought this was a good idea.

Laughter fills the air, and from somewhere in the corner Gilbert can hear someone playing the piano. It is so unlike the first class rooms – even beyond the dim lighting, there is so much _life_ in this room that he is immediately unsure. Gilbert hasn’t been around a group of people so open and carefree since months before his father died – he’s not sure he remembers how to be so happy.

As he walks through the room most people he passes stop to stare – he supposes it’s unsurprising, given the wealth probably oozing from his clothes. What _is_ surprising, however, is just how many people smile as he catches their eye. Gilbert’s heart is so warmed he can’t help but grin back. The sharks he usually spends his time with have never been so kind.

Quickly he spots Anne across the room, her red hair shining out amongst the browns and greys that hang off the crowd around her. She sits between two men looking cross in a playful way that tells Gilbert they’ve been teasing her – he’s seen the look on Winnie’s face before. His heart pangs with jealously, and Gilbert can’t help but feel silly, pining after this girl he barely knows. The feeling quickly fades away as Anne finally notices him – her cheeks burn pink (Gilbert wants so badly to believe that it’s because of him) and she bolts upright, nearly dropping the notebook she’s been holding.

“Gil – Mr. Blythe!” She exclaims, brushing what seems to be invisible dirt off her dress. Gilbert feels his smile falter – she doesn’t exactly sound happy to see him, and the doubt Gilbert’s been feeling intensifies.

“Please, Gilbert is fine.” He says, because he’s always hated being called Mr. Blythe. That’s always been his father, never him. Anne just stares at him, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. “I was hoping to speak to you.” Gilbert finally says after an awkward silence. Anne just nods, and the men she was sitting with snicker behind her.

“…In private.” Gilbert adds on awkwardly when Anne doesn’t move from where she’s standing still as a statue, hoping it doesn’t sound too rude. Does she even want to speak to him? Gilbert should have thought this through – of course she doesn’t want to see the man who she’d had to stop from being stupid enough to throw himself off the ship, why would she –

“Oh, yes! Of course.” She says, leaning down to grab her notebook. She sends a look at the men she’s been with, or maybe it’s a glare, one that Gilbert can’t quite read. His heart sinks, but still he turns around to lead her back onto the deck. If the thought of talking with him is so unappealing he’ll just have to make their time together short and find another way to make his time on this prison bearable. It’s not kind to put that weight on Anne’s shoulders, anyways, when they’ve only just met.

Mind resolved, Gilbert smiles politely at Anne, vowing to himself that he’ll only thank her once more, tell her she needn’t come to dinner tonight if she doesn’t want to, and then never bother her again.

\--

Of course, Gilbert doesn’t account for just how much Miss Shirley (as he’s learned her name to be) loves to talk. He barely gets enough time to thank her again for saving him before she’s off, talking about how angry her friend Jerry was at her for getting into trouble, then they’re off on a whole different tangent. Gilbert doesn’t mind in the slightest – he could listen to her talk forever.

Every word that passes Miss Shirley’s lips is full of passion, no matter the topic, and she accompanies all her stories with grand arm gestures that Gilbert sometimes has to lean to avoid. The sparkle in her eyes and the life in her cheeks when she speaks about the farm she grew up on or the family who’d adopted her is so intense and dazzling Gilbert spends most of the time she was talking simply watching her, memorizing her energy. It’s a miracle he hasn’t walked into anything yet.

In the hour they’ve been talking Miss Shirley has shared so much about herself that Gilbert is reeling with information – the crowd he’s used to accompanying are barely truthful about whether or not they liked their breakfast, let alone as open about everything as Anne is. They would turn their nose up at this redheaded girl from third class who speaks more than she breathes – Gilbert loves it.

“- so I’ve have been hopping all over the country ever since! This is the second time we’ve crossed the ocean, and I want to memorize every moment of it, because I daresay we won’t be crossing her again. Oh, she’ll be our neighbour once we’re at Green Gables, but there’s something different about crossing her, completely at her mercy. Isn’t is so magnificent, the ships we’ve built and the distances we’ve crossed with them? I can’t help but love the journey just as much as the destination, although I’m sure Jerry can’t wait until he has his own room again.” Miss Shirley says, grinning. Gilbert smiles back, enamoured with the way her mind works – he would have never thought of it like that. “I think life is a grand adventure and should be lived as such – privately I believe Matthew thought so too, that’s why he told us to sell the farm.”

“I can’t say my life has been much of an adventure.” Gilbert interjects, more morose than he intends it to be. Anne just shakes her head at him.

“That’s because it just isn’t _your_ adventure!” She says with such confidence that Gilbert wants to believe her. “And either way – we have free will for a reason. I _choose_ to seek out adventure, and I make that choice everyday. Until you decide to let adventure in, it will always remain outside the door.” She suddenly stops as she sees they’ve come to the edge of the railing where they began for the third time (this will be their fourth turn around the deck).

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” She exclaims. “I can’t believe I’ve let myself blabber on so – I’m quite sure you didn’t call me out here just to hear me tell silly stories.” Gilbert wants to tell her that he’s actually very happy to listen to her blabber on, but he does have something that he hasn’t managed to say yet.

“Miss Shirley,” he begins, but she cuts him off immediately.

“Anne.” She says with a small smile. Gilbert nods, returning the smile warmly.

“Anne, I wanted to thank you.” He can see that she wants to interrupt (again) and hurries on. “For not only saving my life but also for your discretion – I regret that it was necessary, but you have saved me twice now with it, once from the ocean and once from Nigel.” Gilbert means it as a lighthearted joke but Anne’s face sours, and his heart drops.

“You’re welcome.” Anne says, but none of her former passion is in it. The pair takes a few more silent steps forward before Gilbert feels like he’ll explode if he doesn’t explain himself. He can’t bare to imagine what she must think of him, and he needs to tell her the real reason _now_ , rather than let her believe whatever story she’s gathered on her own.

“I know what you must think – oh, poor rich boy, what could he know about misery?” He says, looking at the ground for fear of what he’ll see on Anne’s face. Having heard her story over the last hour he knows that everything that had pushed him to stand on the railing would seem insignificant to her – how could it not, as someone who truly has come from the worst in life?

“No!” Anne exclaims, coming to a sudden stop behind him. It’s so forceful that Gilbert almost jumps – when he looks up at her he can see her expression has softened. “No, that wasn’t what I was thinking at all, Mr. Blythe, don’t presume to know my mind! I’ve been there before, on the edge of a precipice, although maybe not quite so literally. All I was thinking was ‘what could have happened to this man to make him think that his only way out was off the back of a ship?’” She pauses, looking at him seriously.

The two stand in silence for a moment, Gilbert lost in his thoughts. Does he tell Anne the truth? He still hasn’t told Winnie everything, only the story of last night. Then he thinks of the way he’s felt since Anne started talking – the way his thoughts have yet to turn to the darkness he saw as his future, and the way he’s been _interested_ in something (someone) for the first time in months. He thinks of the way the ocean looks when he’s with Anne, and Gilbert has his answer.

“It’s everything; the whole world and all the people in it.” The words burst from him, like they’ve been trying to get out this whole time. “Ever since my father died it feels like life is plunging forward, leaving me hanging on for dear life and breathless every time I come to.” Gilbert holds out his hand with the engagement ring that Nigel had insisted on for Anne to see – Gilbert hates the thing more than anything else he owns. It almost looks like a woman’s ring with just how many jewels it is laden with, although he manages to forget that for a moment as Anne gently takes his hand. Then all he can think about is the feeling of her fingers against his. “It feels like today is the first time I’ve taken a breath in years, and not one of them knows. It feels like they’re all just _looking_ at me while I _scream_.”

Anne looks at him critically for a moment before dropping his hand. She shrugs.

“Do you love her?” She asks, like it’s that simple. 

“Pardon me?” He asks, hoping he’s just heard her wrong.

“Do you love her?” Anne repeats, slower this time, like he’s stupid. Gilbert can’t believe the audacity – does she really not understand?

“Miss Shirley, I don’t see how that is your business.” He replies coldly after a moment of shock. He doesn’t realize that he’s subconsciously used one of Nigel’s tactics, he just knows he’s angry that this girl he’s only just would dare ask such a question (and maybe he’s afraid because he’s never met someone who saw into his soul so clearly). Anne raises an eyebrow at him, setting her jaw like she’s readying for a fight, as if _she’s_ the one who’s been offended here.

“Just answer the question, _Mr. Rose_ , it’s not that hard.” She huffs, spitting out the wrong name like an insult. It works as intended – hearing the name ‘Mr. Rose’ hits Gilbert like a punch to the face.

‘It’s not that hard’? How would she know? It _is_ that hard, because Gilbert _does_ love Winnie, and he _could_ love her in the way that’s expected of him – she’s his best friend and one of the most beautiful women he knows, but it’s not as _simple_ as that.

“Do not presume to know my mind, _carrots_.” He spits her own words back at her, the insult tacked on the end in a moment of childlike impulsivity that Gilbert immediately regrets as true, _genuine_ hurt appears on Anne’s face. “I’m not having this conversation – good day, Miss. Shirley, it’s been a pleasure. You need not come to dinner if you do not wish to, as I have thanked you here.”

Gilbert sticks out his hand firmly for her to shake, and Anne starts to turn away, anger furrowing her brow. Something must occur to her, however, as she takes his hand and shakes it firmly (to the point of pain) at the last minute.

“And you’ve insulted me.” She says with a sharp smile, still shaking his hand. Gilbert is taken aback at her brashness, but also by the freckles on her face that he had so rhapsodized about to Winnie. They’re still the cutest thing he’s ever seen, and the sight of them gracefully tumbling down her nose really takes the bite out of his anger. It’s a little pathetic, but Gilbert hasn’t had control of his emotions for _months_ – he’s just glad this isn’t a spiral into rage or the dreaded numbness he so despises.

“Why – yes, well, you deserved it.” He replies belatedly, scrambling for words as he realizes that he’s been looking at her for much too long. They’re still shaking hands. She looks down at their joined hands before looking back to him with a raised eyebrow.

“You were leaving?” She asks, a hint of amusement in her voice, and Gilbert nods firmly, letting go of her hand and turning to walk away before he realizes that, actually, right now, he would rather do anything than leave those freckles and the girl they belong to again.

“You are _very_ forward, Miss Shirley.” He says, and Anne smiles like it’s a compliment. “But also, this is _my_ side of the ship, so really _you_ should be leaving.” Gilbert grins at her, trying to show that he’s joking.

“Oh, really?” Anne says, before taking the notebook he’d seen earlier out of her pocket and throwing it under the nearest lounge chair. “I’m terribly sorry but I’m afraid I seem to have lost my notebook – I think I’ll have to stick around for a while, until I find it, of course.” Somehow, she keeps a straight face during this sequence of events – Gilbert can’t say he does the same, as he breaks out into laughter as soon as she finishes speaking. Anne lasts for a moment more before she joins him, and her laughter is so distracting Gilbert can’t help but stare as her nose crinkles and her chest heaves with the intensity of it.

Her laughter isn’t ‘proper’ or reserved, or even toeing the line like Winnie does whenever she laughs at a joke. No, Anne’s laughter is unabashed and unreserved. She even snorts once or twice, much to Gilbert’s enraptured amusement.

It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please do imagine just how ugly that pocket watch is  
> Also I really just hopped on board the winnie & gilbert train huh. This wasn’t in my plan when I thought up the idea of this fic but im not complaining! There will be no winnie bashing – im like in love with her anyway so. Im out here writing some wholesome, intimate m/f friendships, bc its what the people deserve (im the people). I know the focus hasn’t totally been on romance so far but in my defense im actually more of a gen writer so im doing my best]
> 
> ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR HOW LATE THIS IS!! ive been struggling with writing the next couple chapters, plus school has been intense and i have a lot of trouble with motivation 😞 my schedule is SUPPOSED to be that i update when i finish writing two chapters ahead of the one to be posted - i havent stuck to that this time bc i felt so bad abt leaving yall hanging and i wanted to give u guys something to read while your social distancing (which you better be doing!!!!) in the future i will try my absolute best to update at least once a month - unfortunately that's the best i can offer as of now.


	7. Chapter 7: A Golden Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 8000 chapter? sorry lol im a little word vomity 
> 
> (also, there’s some one-sided anne/diana in this chapter! just thought id mention it so no ones too shook when they read it. I don’t exactly know the demographic of who’s reading this but yeah im super gay and physically incapable of not writing anne/diana nice to meet you :] )

Anne hadn’t known what to expect when Gilbert had come down to the third class hold – Jerry and Moody had sure thought it was funny, seeing a man like him in a place like that, but Anne couldn’t bring herself to feel anything other than anxious. When they’d started talking Anne had ran away with the conversation, like she always did, but it had taken her longer than usual to notice. Gilbert didn’t seem to mind – he let her ramble over every topic she could think of without once trying to stop her. It wasn’t something Anne was used to – normally the only one who lets her truly talk is Jerry.

Now Anne’s too busy laughing to be self conscious about what Gilbert thinks about the sound – somehow talking to him is one of the easiest things in the world. Starting a conversation with him wasn’t, but Anne’s surprised at how well they’re getting along. For a moment she thought she’d ruined everything with her big fat mouth, but despite all the fumbles on her part everything had turned out alright. Even the “carrots” taunt hadn’t hurt as much as it would have when she was younger. 

Due to his distraction Gilbert is the first to stop laughing, and before Anne can recover, he tears himself away to swoop in and save her notebook from the deck.

“What is this, anyway?” He asks playfully, not opening it until Anne makes no move to snatch it back. She doesn’t mind him reading it – what’s the point of writing it down if she’s only going to keep it to herself? “Oh, you write poetry?”

Anne nods. “Yes, I’ve been writing for as long as I could remember – in my mind before on paper. I’ve always read a lot, and stories make the greatest escape, but I’ve found poetry to be the best medium to express myself. Besides, more people will pay for a poem on the street than a whole story.” She smiles cheekily, but Gilbert is too distracted by her notebook to notice.

Sitting down on the nearest chair he gestures to the page open before him, where a drawing of Marilla sprawls across the paper.

“Did you do this?” He asks. Anne sits beside him and shakes her head.

“No, I’m afraid I’m _atrocious_ at drawing, painting, and anything of the like. My friend Cole drew that, a few months before Marilla passed.” Anne looks at the drawing with a small, bittersweet smile. Gilbert glances up at her in surprise.

“Oh – this is Marilla?” He asks, looking back to the page and lightly tracing his fingers over the lines. Anne’s familiar with the motion – she’s done it many times herself. “She’s quite the lady.” He remarks, and Anne laughs. The poem on the next page is all about Marilla, and the first one Anne had written in her notebook after Matthew had given it to her. It’s not the best – she’d also received a dictionary for that birthday, and the poem is full of one too many words used simply because they were the largest Anne knew (and thus, to her, the most dramatic).

“ _Draconian_?” Gilbert asks with a raised eyebrow, looking at Anne with an amused grin on his face. She tries not to blush.

“That is a perfectly reasonable adjective!” She exclaims, and Gilbert chuckles.

“No, it really isn’t. Can you even spell it?” He asks cheekily, pulling her notebook away so that she can’t look over the page. Anne rolls her eyes, grudgingly amused.

“D-r-a-c-o-n-i-a-n.” She recites dutifully, crossing her arms and arching her eyebrow right back. Gilbert doesn’t even have the grace to look impressed – instead he just laughs at her. “Now it’s _your_ turn, Gilbert Blythe.” She retorts, and Gilbert raises his hands in mock surrender. Anne takes a moment to think of the most complicated word she knows – she is _not_ about to let him win.

“Exquisite.” Anne finally declares triumphantly – she’s not sure of Gilbert’s level education and hadn’t wanted to be _mean_ , but she did still want to _win_ , so she’d settled for one of the mid-level words she knows. When Gilbert smirks confidently at her, Anne knows she’s messed up.

“E-x-q-u-i-s-i-t-e. Exquisite.” Gilbert spells before giving a haughty fake bow. Anne huffs – damn, she thought she’d had him. “It seems we have come to a tie, madam.” Gilbert says, and Anne shakes her head vehemently.

“No _way_ , Gilbert; I _will_ win.” Anne replies, and is internally overjoyed when Gilbert rises to the challenge.

They spend the next half hour quizzing each other on the most complex words they know. It only ends when Anne catches Gilbert up with the word “Lachrymose”, and he gracefully accepts defeat.

“Okay, okay, you win.” He says, smiling at her _very_ happily for a man who’s just lost. “Now can I please read some more of your poems?” Anne nods, trying hard not to blush.

Gilbert spends a few minutes in silence reading while Anne tries to contain her nervous fidgeting, waiting for his opinion on her more serious works, the ones she’s actually proud of. Finally, he comes to stop on a poem she’d written about Jerry only a couple of weeks ago. There’s no drawing accompanying it; Anne hasn’t seen Cole in almost six months now.

_Immobile when he smiles,_

_Can't think straight._

_Is it fate that we met,_

_Are we soulmates?_

_He sets me aflame,_

_I want to change his last name,_

_Oh, I'm running out of synonyms to say_

_That I love him_

She’d written the poem as practice – during most of their travels she’d put the romance aside as she wrote poems about the landscape and the food of the new places she saw. After realizing she’d gotten rusty she’d done what she always did while writing about romance – pretend she’s in love with someone and write a poem about them. In this case it just happened to be Jerry, the only one around when she’d had the impulse to write. It’s not the worst thing she’s ever written, although it’s certainly not the best either. She wishes she’d made if more obvious it was about him – it isn’t nearly personal enough for her liking and the only indication of her muse is the word ‘Jerry’ sprawled across the top, written by the man himself.

Gilbert, who before had looked curious, reads it with an inscrutable look on his face. It’s the first romantic poem he’s come across – Anne is nervous to see what he thinks of it.

“…This is very good.” Gilbert finally says, looking back up at Anne. She still can’t read his face. “You’re a great writer, Anne. It’s clear how much you love this man, just from a few stanzas.”

“Really?” Anne exclaims, smiling widely. She’s never been told that before! “Oh, that’s exactly what I was hoping for! I’m afraid that’s not one of my best, but it’s good to hear that it’s still passable.” Gilbert looks back down at the notebook.

“…You’ve written many poems about him, then?” He asks, a strange quality to his tone.

Anne has to think for a moment – what poems has she written about Jerry? She’s never thought about counting them before. Thinking about it, yes, she has written many poems about him. Nearly as many as the Cuthbert’s, which isn’t surprising considering she’s known him just as long. Most of them are about how annoying he is, although some are about the way he sings when he’s truly happy and how he’s the best friend she’s ever had.

“Oh, I suppose I have!” She replies. “I’ve known him so long I imagine it’s only natural.” She shrugs, unsure why Gilbert even cares.

Abruptly he stands up, thrusting her notebook back into her hands.

“Well, shall we take another stroll around the deck, Anne?” He asks, gallantly offering his arm for her to take. Anne is confused by the sudden change in tone, but follows him nonetheless, reluctant to let this afternoon end.

“So…” Anne says after a few paces. “What is your fiancée like? I think I saw the two of you laughing on the deck – she looks wonderful. Almost like a fairy – I couldn’t hear her laughter, but I imagine it sounds like a beautiful bell carried on the wind.”

Yes, Anne is aware she’s doing the equivalent of poking a sleeping bear, but she so desperately wants to remind herself that Gilbert isn’t _hers_ that she’s doing it anyway. She’s still not convinced that he loves her, but Anne knows well enough that sometimes there isn’t an option. Besides, his fiancée really had looked wonderful – maybe if Gilbert tells her enough Anne will write a poem about her later.

“…I’m not sure where to start.” Gilbert replies. His shoulders have stiffened and his smile is now fake, but there’s no sign of anger in his face, so Anne feels it’s safe enough to continue.

“Well…. Tell me what makes her laugh?” Anne suggests. Gilbert chuckles softly and shakes his head.

“I’m afraid that such a list would take forever.” He smiles, clearly remembering something fondly – Anne tries not to feel jealous. “I’m quite sure Winnie would laugh in the face of death itself – it doesn’t matter how awful your sense of humour is, she’ll find something to laugh at. I suppose that’s how she gets along with others so well, although she’ll never find anyone as funny as she does herself.”

“Winnie?”

“Oh, sorry, Winnifred is my fiancée. Winnie is just a nickname.” Gilbert explains, blushing. Anne can’t help but giggle at his bashfulness.

“And what a cute nickname it is! I always dreamed about having a nickname when I was younger – so many other the other girls at the orphanage had one. But Anne is much too short and boring for one, I’m afraid. I suppose ‘Annie’ would work, but that sounds so dreadfully _dull_ – it’s certainly not a name you’d _ever_ find in a novel.”

At the last minute Anne notices she’s rambling and curses internally – this was supposed to be about Gilbert! But as she turns to apologize she finds him just looking at her, a peculiar smile on his face, and for reasons she can’t quite explain, Anne doesn’t feel quite so silly.

“How did you and Winnie meet?” She asks, intrigued despite her stupid jealously. If Winnie really is important to Gilbert (whether or not he’s in love with her) then Anne wants to know about her!

They spend the rest of the afternoon talking and laughing – Gilbert tells her some of his life story and it’s just so unfair it makes her heart ache. Measuring wounds is never of any use so Anne won’t compare her childhood to his, but she can’t help but think back on all of the adventures she’s had – she’s certainly lived a full life, one Gilbert is convinced he’ll never have.

It’s Jerry who finally brings Anne back to the real world from the bubble her and Gilbert have created. Hours must have past since she left to talk with Gilbert, but Anne hasn’t felt any of them. Jerry, on the other hand, clearly has – though he tries to mask it under indifference in front of Gilbert, Anne can tell he’s concerned.

“There you are!” Jerry says, interrupting Anne and Gilbert from where they’ve been talking about their educations. He slouches up to Anne and pulls one of her braids, smirking when she reaches over to hit him. “You were gone for so long I thought you’d fallen off the end of the ship!” He says this like a joke, but the sharp glint in his eye makes Anne shift uncomfortably– he’s clearly not over last night’s incident yet.

“I would never let that happen.” Gilbert interrupts, holding his hand out for Jerry to shake. This is absolutely the wrong thing to say, based off the sharp look Jerry gives him, but Gilbert either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “Gilbert Blythe, pleasure to meet you.”

Jerry looks at Gilbert without taking his hand long enough that the air turns awkward. Just when Anne thinks Gilbert’s going to withdraw his handshake, Jerry grabs his hand, _hard_.

“Jerry Baynard.” Jerry smirks. Gilbert’s eyes grow wide and his eyes dart between Anne and Jerry.

“Oh! _You’re_ … you two are…” Gilbert says like he’s had some sort of epiphany. Anne has _no_ idea what he’s talking about – her and Jerry are _what_?

Suddenly Gilbert clears his throat and becomes what everyone else in first class must see – a perfect gentleman. It’s like there’s a puppeteer pulling a string – his spine straightens and his arms curve politely by his side. Even his cheeks lose some of their lively colour. For the first time since they’ve started talking Anne is acutely aware of just how far his universe is from hers.

“I apologize, Mr. Baynard, for what this must look like. I had no… _intentions_ toward Anne of any sort – I simply wanted to talk with her after last night.” He says, taking a small step back.

Jerry looks to Anne in confusion, as if _she_ knows what Gilbert’s talking about.

“What on Earth are you talking about, Gilbert?” Anne asks, exasperated as it becomes clear that Jerry isn’t going to clear things up. She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, trying her best to channel Marilla. Gilbert just looks back at her like _she’s_ the one who isn’t making any sense.

“I apologize for the impropriety, Anne. If I had known you were… _spoken for_ I never would have invited you out on such an inappropriate meeting. I can only hope I haven’t done _too_ much damage to your good image.” He says, clearly uncomfortable. Anne can only stare at him in shock.

“ _Spoken for_?” She exclaims.

” _Good image_?” Jerry cries out at the same time, clearly delighted at the turn of events. “Anne doesn’t have a _good image_ – damage it all you like. You have my permission.” Jerry winks at Gilbert who looks more confused by the second.

“Shut up, Jerry!” Anne cries, hitting him with her notebook. He exaggerates a wince, looking at her in mock horror. “Don’t go spreading rumours like that!” She scolds him. “Gilbert, I’m afraid you have the wrong idea, a _terribly_ wrong idea. I’m not sure why on _Earth_ one would think Jerry and I are courting, but I assure you it is _very much not true_.”

Anne’s cheeks feel like they’re on fire with how hard she’s blushing. Thankfully, Gilbert seems to be suffering the same affliction. Jerry looks between the two of them like he’s never seen something more entertaining.

“I-I apologize again, Anne, for being so presumptuous. The poem in your notebook, I just thought-“ Gilbert begins to say.

“What poem did you show him?” Jerry interrupts him in alarm, not looking so amused anymore. Now it’s Anne’s turn to smirk – she knows that _Jerry_ knows just how many embarrassing poems she’s written about him. Now it’s his turn to squirm.

“ _Faire des galipettes_.” Anne says slyly, crossing her arms and smirking in enjoyment as Jerry’s face turns bright red.

“You _what_?” Jerry says to her, the look of horror on his face so comical Anne has to laugh. “Anne!”

“Jerry!” Anne replies mockingly.

“Uh –“ Gilbert interjects, breaking up their argument. His cheeks are just as red Jerry’s, if not more than. Anne’s stomach sinks – does he…?

“I don’t know the title of the poem I read, but I assure you, Mr. Baynard, that was _not_ it.” Gilbert continues. “…I speak French, if not fluently then passably. A few months ago I stayed a while in Paris.” He admits at Jerry’s inquisitive look.

Anne feels her cheeks heat up. Great, just what she needed Gilbert hearing.

“Ah, a man of class!” Jerry exclaims, all animosity forgotten in the face of Anne’s humiliation. He slings an arm around Gilbert and steers him back into walking circles around the deck, leaving Anne hurrying to catch up.

“Jerry!” She huffs.

“Anne!” Jerry replies in a crude imitation of Anne’s voice, crossing his eyes. Anne’s about to stick her tongue out at him when Gilbert laughs.

“You guys are like this all the time, huh?” He asks, amused. Jerry smirks.

“She’s a _savage,_ Mr. Blythe, and I can do nothing but reply in kind.” Jerry says, and Anne leans over to hit him on the shoulder.

“That’s a lie!” she exclaims. “And if I _am_ a savage it’s clearly all your fault – who was it that taught me how to spit again?” Anne asks primly, folding her arms at her side and trying to emulate the body language of every first class woman she’s seen. It doesn’t quite work with her gawky elbows and boney knees, but everyone has the grace not to mention it.

“No one could tell you’ve been _taught_ once they’ve seen you spit – you _suck_.” Jerry snickers at the outraged look on Anne’s face. Gilbert looks between the two like he’s watching a particularly entertaining tennis match, a smile on his face.

“Who was it that won last time?” Jerry asks, cupping a hand to his ear. He continues before Anne can reply. “Oh, that’s right, _I_ did.”

“That’s because you _cheated_!” Anne exclaims.

“You can’t prove anything.” Jerry spits with an evil grin on his face. Anne huffs at him for a moment before her eyes dart to the railing beside them – Jerry follows her gaze and the grin on his face sharpens.

Without saying a word the two abandon Gilbert to sprint over to the railing – Anne’s almost forgotten about his presence completely.

“I’m gonna win.” Jerry preens, jostling Anne with his elbow.

“You _wish_!” Anne exclaims, already building up saliva in her mouth.

The two stare each other down for a moment, competition blocking out their surroundings and locking them into their fight. They both turn to the railing and spit at the same time, having done this so many times they no longer need to count.

“Ha, I won!” Anne crows, throwing her arms up in victory. Jerry pushes her shoulder.

“No way!” He exclaims. “Mine totally went farther!”

“Nuh uh!” Anne shakes her head at him. Jerry just nods at her harder. Anne crosses her arms over her chest – there’s no way she’s giving in. She _won_.

“Mr. Blythe!” Jerry suddenly, turning to the man (who’s been standing behind them this whole time).

Anne feels her blotchy blush start to cover her cheeks as she realizes that Gilbert has seen _everything_. Great, just the impression she wanted to make – she couldn’t have made herself seem any more like the third class animal most first class passengers think she is if she tried. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem horrified or disgusted, as he probably should be. Instead, he’s almost bent in half by his laughter, cheeks also red. Anne feels a smile come over her face despite her embarrassment.

“You saw everything, right?” Jerry asks. “Who won?” He looks at Gilbert with a smirk on his face, sure he’s going to be chosen the winner.

Gilbert takes a few breathes to calm himself down, although his smiles is still wide and infectious when he finally answers.

“Anne won, definitely.” He says to Jerry, although he’s looking at Anne, a glimmer of something unreadable in his eye. Anne blushes harder, but still turns to Jerry to rub in her victory.

“Ha!” She exclaims. “Told you!” Jerry just shakes his head.

“This judge is biased – I demand a new one!” He says pouting. Anne laughs.

“Nope, Gilbert said I won, so I did!” Without thinking Anne throws her arms around Gilbert’s neck. It’s only for a moment, but both of them are red when she hastily jerks back. They both look down at the deck awkwardly, and Jerry rolls his eyes.

“Come on, Mr. Blythe, now it’s your turn.” Jerry grabs Gilbert’s arm and drags him over to the railing. Gilbert just shakes his head.

“I – uh, I don’t know how.” He says, blushing and rubbing the back of his neck. Anne giggles at the shame on his face.

“Lucky for you, _monsieur_ , _”_ Jerry says with a flourish, “you’ve got the best teacher in all of Europe standing right here.”

Anne _never_ could have imagined that she would spend the rest of the afternoon _spitting over the side of the ship_ with Gilbert, but that’s precisely what happens. Jerry is an impatient and mischievous teacher, but it’s not like it takes much to _spit_ so eventually Gilbert is participating in the competitions with them. Jerry wins most of them, Anne wins some of them, and Gilbert wins none but it’s all in good fun. Or, it Is, until Mr. Rose happens upon them, mid-spit.

All three wheel around in surprise at the sound of harsh footsteps. Jerry and Gilbert are fine, but Anne’s left with a string of saliva hanging from her mouth. Jerry gestures for her to wipe it away, but Anne has no idea what any of his movements are meant to mean. After a few seconds of failed charades Jerry rolls his eyes and sidles up beside her - in one quick move meant to look like a caress of some sort, he cleans it with his sleeve. It’s embarrassing for both of them – Jerry glares daggers at her and Anne glares back, both of their cheeks red.

“…Mr. Blythe.” Mr. Rose says with a sniff, looking at Anne and Jerry like they are something squished on the bottom of his shoe. Anne can barely keep the sneer off her face, even knowing it won’t do her any good. The thought that he thinks himself better than her and Jerry ( _especially_ Jerry) boils Anne’s blood.

On his arm is the woman Anne had seen Gilbert with before – Winnie, his fiancée. She’s just as beautiful up close – the type of beauty Anne would stop and stare at in the street, caught in a trance as she wrote poetry in her head. Behind them stand an elegant couple, both sporting dark hair and identical frowns. Accompanying them is clearly their daughter, a girl who looks about Anne’s age (although much more refined than Anne thinks she’ll ever be). Under their combined steely gaze Anne finds her back straightening subconsciously, despite the fact that she has no real desire to impress them.

“Nigel!” Gilbert exclaims good-naturedly, as if he _hadn’t_ just been spitting off the side of the ship. In an instant he’s slipped back into being the perfect first class gentleman – it’s just as jarring as it was last night, maybe even more so in the angled lighting of the sun. The smile on his lips isn’t _fake_ , per say, because Gilbert’s better than that, but it still makes Anne uncomfortable. “You remember Miss Shirley from last night, correct?” Gilbert continues; Anne isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do. She gives a little curtsy but, going by the look on the dark haired girl, that isn’t correct.

“Yes, it is a pleasure, Miss Shirley.” Mr. Rose says, looking like he means anything but.

“Gilbert, perfect timing!” The golden haired girl says, breaking the tense air. “I urgently need your help in my cabin – I’m afraid I’ve dropped my trunk and I’m just not strong to pick it up again. Help me?” She asks, fluttering her eyelashes in a false simpering way that would have Anne gagging any other time had she not seem the fond amusement in Gilbert’s face.

“Yes, of course, Winnifred.” He says to her, before turning to Anne with a bow. “Miss Shirley, I hope to see you at supper tonight.”

When he stands straight again the look in his eye is apologetic, although his expression doesn’t betray anything. The anger that had come over Anne without her noticing softens at the glance, and she smiles at him.

“Of course,” Anne replies, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

With that, Gilbert leaves with Mr. Rose, Winnie, and the rest of their crew are gone, the only evidence of their presence the space in the deck where they’d stood. Anne is sad to see him go, but she’s hesitantly excited for dinner – every new experience is an adventure she cherishes, no matter how nerve-wracking. Besides, it will be another chance to talk with Gilbert (who Anne’s sure she’ll never see after tonight, let alone after the boat docks) and his fiancée.

“Miss Shirley?” A quiet voice chimes pipes up behind Anne, who jumps. It belongs to the girl with dark hair – she must have stayed behind while Anne was caught up in her thoughts.

“Oh, yes?” Anne says, smiling at the girl and pleasantly surprised when she gets a smile in return.

“You do plan on coming to supper tonight, yes?” She asks. Anne nods. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but are you planning on changing beforehand?”

Anne isn’t offended – she knows what her clothes look like. Honestly, until this moment, she hadn’t really thought about what she’s going to wear tonight. She’s never really thought about that sort of thing. Clothes are just one material worry that Anne can’t be bothered to care about – she believes that every moment of life is invaluable and indispensable, and she’d rather spend her time loving and being loved than caring about her _clothes._

“I don’t have anything else.” Anne replies with a shrug, looking to Jerry (who hasn’t quite thrown off the anger from their encounter with Mr. Rose). “I didn’t bring any other dresses, and it’s not like Jerry has a suit I could borrow.”

“You couldn’t wear a _suit_ to supper!” The girl exclaims, scandalized. Anne shrugs.

“Why not?” She asks. “I think I’d look rather fetching in one – wouldn’t I, Jerry?”

“Sure.” Jerry replies, shrugging like it’s no big deal – Anne’s not even sure he heard the question. The girl looks between the two like they’re from another planet.

“Well – well you don’t have one, so I suppose it’s a moot point.” She finally says. Suddenly she shakes her head, eyes cringed closed. “Oh, dear, where are my manners!”

“I’m Diana Barry.” She says firmly, holding her hand out politely. Anne shakes it, but Jerry turns it over and kisses it flirtatiously. He frowns when he doesn’t get more than a strange look from Diana. Anne can sympathize – Jerry’s behaviour never makes sense to her either.

“I’m Anne.” Anne replies. “And this is my best friend, Jerry.”

“Well, Anne, you’re going to need something to wear tonight, unless you _want_ to make a bad impression.” Diana states. “I think we’re close enough to the same size – I’d be more than happy to lend you something for the evening.”

“What, really?” Anne questions incredulously, taking in the dress Diana is currently wearing. It _must_ have cost a fortune – at least more than Anne or Jerry combined could make in a year.

“Yes, really.” Diana says, smiling. “Oh, uh, will you be joining us for supper, Mr. Baynard?” Jerry laughs, much harder than the question garnered. Anne does have to admit that the idea of _him_ in first class is funny – he’d probably start a riot amongst the waiters.

“ _Me?_ In _first class_? No way!” He exclaims. “You wouldn’t catch me dead up there. Uh, no offence.” He adds hastily on the end.

Diana doesn’t look offended – instead she looks relieved. Anne assumes she doesn’t have any clothes that would fit Jerry. That _would_ make sense.

“Then I hope you don’t mind if I steal Miss Shirley away for the rest of the afternoon.” Diana says politely. Jerry shakes his head.

“No, you are free to have her.” Jerry presses a kiss to Anne’s cheek before jogging off. “Good luck with the sharks, Anne!” He calls, and Anne rolls her eyes.

“He’s kidding.” She stage-whispers to Diana, who giggles hesitantly. Despite being nervous, it is a delightfully cute sound – Anne loves it.

“Well, where are we off to, then?” Anne asks, and Diana blushes.

“Oh, right!” She says. “Here, my cabin is this way.” She grabs Anne’s hand to lead her, blush intensifying on her cheeks.

After a trip through a few first class hallways (that are so clean and richly decorated Anne feels like she’s dirtying the place just by breathing the same air) the pair arrive at Diana’s cabin. Its size is the first thing Anne notices – just the sitting room is larger than two of Anne’s cabins combined, and she doesn’t even see any beds yet, just more doors. There are clear signs of other people’s presence in the room, but whoever they are they must be out, because the whole cabin is silent.

“Right this way.” Diana says, graciously holding open the door for Anne.

“Why, thank you-“ Anne begins to say before she sees the inside of the room she’s just entered. “Oh my goodness!” She exclaims. “This is _your_ room?” Diana looks surprised at Anne’s shock.

“Oh – yes, I share it with my younger sister, Minnie May. The dolls are hers.” Diana gestures to the stack of dolls sitting on the bed, blushing as if she was worried Anne would think they were hers. Anne thinks they’re beautiful. They look just like the dolls Anne had imagined from the stories she’d read about princesses – down to the intricate golden curls and the adorable, red pouting lips.

“I’ve never seen such a beautiful room!” Anne says breathlessly, reaching over to gently stroke the hair of the closest doll. “My room is little more than a matchbox, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, thank you.” Diana replies. “We tried to make it as close to home as possible, although I’m afraid we can’t take much credit for the majority of it.”

“It must be so lovely to stay in here.” Anne says dreamily. “Why, I’d feel just like a princess….” She can’t help but sigh happily, sitting down on the bed without asking. Diana looks both amused and confused, eventually just shaking her head at Anne’s antics.

“Well, while you imagine that I’ll try to find a dress for you.” She says with a gentle smile.

For a few minutes the only sound in the room is that of rustling fabric and the soft breathing of both girls. Diana’s back is to Anne, giving the redhead more time to admire the room.

“Well, none of the dresses in here will do,” Diana says, turning around, “but I’m afraid the rest are still in my trunks. I suppose I could go look through those now but –“ Diana hesitates, looking Anne up and down, something unreadable passing over her face. “Well, I’ll just choose some jewelry first, how about that?” With a smile, Diana turns around once more.

By this time Anne has had ample time to think (and memorize the way Diana’s neck elegantly curves as well as the way her hair shines in the lighting), and the curiosity is killing her. Does Diana know Gilbert? Does she have an opinion of him? Is he really as kind as he seems? Diana turns back to Anne, a necklace held in her hands, but Anne interrupts her just as she opens her mouth.

“How do you know Gil- Mr. Blythe?” Anne asks, barely catching her slip into familiarity.

“Oh, we met him and the Rose family at dinner yesterday.” Diana chuckles and shakes her head fondly. “My sister is half in love with him already – it seems he’s quite the charmer, what with you, Winifred, and Minnie May on his arm.” She laughs, and her laugh is just as pretty as the rest of her, which _so_ isn’t fair – laughter isn’t supposed to be that pretty!

“How ever have you managed to stay free of his wiles?” Anne asks teasingly, although with a touch of genuine curiosity. She feels like she’s been swept off her feet by the man with so much force she’s almost dizzy – she couldn’t imagine _not_ finding his eyes the most gorgeous she’s ever seen.

Diana’s reaction is not what Anne’s expecting – the laughter they’d been sharing stops and starts again abruptly, falling stiltedly from Diana’s lips. She turns her back on Anne, under the pretense of looking once more through her jewelry box, but Anne can tell it’s just a distraction – the necklace she holds is the one Diana’s heart is already set on. Every so often her eyes dart to meet Anne’s eyes in the mirror before flittering away once more.

“Oh, I suppose he’s just not my type.” Diana says with a false lightness, much too late to feel like a normal addition to conversation. She shrugs, and Anne can tell this isn’t the whole truth. “Besides, what does it matter, Anne? He’s clearly smitten with you.” Diana smirks slyly, but Anne doesn’t let the distraction slide, and she doesn’t even process what Diana’s just implied.

She thinks of the way Diana had rebuffed Jerry’s flirtation, seemingly without noticing, and the way she’d looked at Anne with red in her cheeks. Then she thinks of fifteen year old Anne, pining after Josie Pye and feeling like the only person in the world for it.

“Not your type as in you don’t like brunettes, or as in your type doesn’t include men? Because the latter seems perfectly reasonable – anything else and I’m afraid I’ll have to question your judgement. I mean – not that I’m attracted to him, or anything, given that he’s engaged, I just have eyes…” Anne knows she’s rambling at the end but she’s trying to make Diana more comfortable with her question – she’s knows she’s being a bit forward, but Anne’s never got anywhere in life by keeping quiet. Plus, she really hadn’t meant to make it sound like she’s infatuated with Gilbert, because she _isn’t_. He’s engaged, and she just likes him as a friend, is all. A friend with the most beautiful smile she’s ever seen…

Diana’s cheeks flush and she turns to look at Anne with eyes wide in shock. “I-I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” She finally manages to stammer, and it’s the shy look in her eye that gives Anne the confidence to push the issue, sure that she’s right.

“Oh, sorry, I just thought you might like women. I certainly understand the appeal – I’ve been smitten by many a magnificent woman myself, but I’ll admit I can’t quite turn down a man with the right kindness to his smile. I’m a romantic, through and through.” Anne sighs, nearly caught up as she remembers the many fictional heroes she’d fallen in love with over the years. Diana regains her attention as the dark-haired girl sits down heavily on the bed beside Anne, eyes wide.

“You – you really… you have?” She asks breathlessly, tripping over her words. Anne smiles gently, laying her hand on top of Diana’s where it clutches the necklace she’d fetched from her jewelry box.

“Yes, I have.” Anne replies. “I’m sorry if I was too forward, Marilla always used to say I only think of my words _after_ I’ve said them. I just… thought I saw a kindred spirit, and remembered how terribly lonesome I was without one when I was younger.” Diana relaxes a little, letting her shoulders slump (as far as her upbringing will allow her to, anyway), although her eyes still peer into Anne’s anxiously.

“H-how did you know?” She asks fearfully, voice lowered to a whisper. Anne hesitates.

“…Well, you answered my question much like how _I_ would have, when I was stupidly obsessed with Josie Pye and was convinced my heart would never find another.” Anne smiles, and Diana giggles despite the tears still forming in her eyes. “But I also saw the way you watched and how your cheeks grew red – and your blush really is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen which is very unfair, as _mine_ is just horribly blotchy – when you grabbed my hand. It’s probably all the romance novels going to my head but… I thought it meant something.”

Diana’s face grows whiter by the minute as Anne explains her thoughts. When Anne finishes she looks like a ghost, eyes wide and afraid. She stands so quickly Anne’s afraid her arm is going to be torn off from the grip she still holds on Diana’s hand. The other girl goes to escape but Anne refuses to release her grip. Her mind races, trying to figure out what she’s done wrong.

“Wait, Diana-“

“Why did you even come in here with me then?” Diana cries, tears falling in rivers down her face. “If you know what I am and how I _look_ at you why would you come to my room to -to _borrow my clothes_? I-I shouldn’t be around you like this!”

“Why wouldn’t I come?” Anne asks, equally shocked. She doesn’t loosen her grip but at some point in her rant Diana had stopped trying to run away. The brunette brings her other hand up to rub fruitlessly at her cheeks. “Your offer was one of the most generous I’ve ever seen, of course I’d take you up on your kindness!”

“Then why bring any of this up?” Diana asks angrily. “To mock me? Make sure I know my boundaries?”

“I’m so sorry, Diana, I didn’t mean anything by it! I-I know you don’t know me but believe me, I meant no harm! Sometimes I just get so caught up in my head and the things I think I’m seeing, like it’s not real life but a story I’m creating that I just… forget what I should and shouldn’t say.” Anne finishes miserably. “Besides, have you already forgotten _my_ confession? Diana I can hardly judge you for that which I am also guilty of.” Anne doesn’t think either of them is guilty of anything, but that’s a discussion for a different time.

“You – oh.” Diana pauses, realization dawning on her. “I – you did say that, didn’t you? I suppose in my panic I just… forgot.” She slumps down onto the bed, colour finally back in her cheeks as she blushes again. Anne laughs, more out of relief than actual amusement.

“Yes, I did say that!” In a moment of impulse Anne reaches forward to cup Diana’s face, using her thumbs to brush away any lingering tears. She can feel the heat through her hands as Diana’s blush intensifies.

For a moment the two just sit in silence, looking into each others’ eyes. Anne doesn’t mind – she’s grown to be comfortable in silence. Though she loves to talk, she’s grown out of needing to fill every moment with chatter.

Diana’s dress rustling is the sound that finally breaks the silence. She leans in and presses a sweet, chaste kiss to Anne’s lips, and before the redhead can even react Diana is retreating again. It’s so quick that Anne only barely processes it – Diana’s lips feel like the softest satin, even pressed to hers for such a short time. It is not an unpleasant kiss.

Anne’s hands fall to her lips as she tries to process what just happened.

“Oh, I – Diana, I…” Anne stammers, surprisingly at a loss for words. Diana’s face falls, but only for a moment.

“You aren’t interested in me like that.” She finishes softly for Anne, blushing finally fading. “I’m so sorry, Miss Shirley, I just thought… I won’t do that again.” Diana moves to stand up and away from Anne, not making eye contact with her.

“Please, call me Anne!” Anne replies quickly, grabbing Diana’s hand to bring her gaze back to Anne’s. “You’re right, I’m not interested in you like that, but that kiss was among the most delightful I’ve ever had, and I am certainly not irate about it.” Anne laughs. 

Slowly Diana begins to smile – it’s the first Anne’s seem from her that isn’t tinged with sadness or anxiety. The sight of it makes Anne’s heart soar.

“Me too.” Diana replies, and the pair giggle.

The previous tension in the air is dispersed, and Anne feels fully relaxed for the first time since she’s entered Diana’s room. Maybe things should feel awkward, but all Anne can think about is how much she _yearns_ to be Diana’s friend, to be closer to her.

“We better hurry up and find you a dress!” Diana exclaims as she catches sight of the clock on the wall behind Anne. “It’s almost supper, and I still need to get ready as well. Here, take this.” She hands Anne the necklace she’d been holding then scurries out of the room.

It’s a thick chain with a few clear gems in it, though mostly it’s just silver. Anne dreads to think of how much this must cost and for a moment she contemplates just silently placing it back into Diana’s jewelry box, feeling like she’s taking advantage of Diana’s kindness. But then Anne thinks of Gilbert and his clothes that practically reek of money, not to mention the engagement ring he wears on his finger. She doesn’t think he would mind her showing up to dinner in her three year old dress, but his company, his _fiancée_ , certainly would, and while Anne is used to the scathing comments, she doesn’t want Gilbert to have to suffer the consequences. So, Anne keeps the necklace, and waits for Diana to come back.

The dress she carries when she finally returns is so magnificent it takes Anne’s breath away. Lace drapes in rows across a red fabric – there are white swirls embroidered all across it, with a slit at one side so one might see the fabulous colour underneath. Any insecurities about her pasty skin or hideous hair are blown away as Anne takes it in.

“Oh, Diana, are you sure I can wear this?” Anne asks. “It looks much too beautiful for plain old me!” Diana laughs.

“Yes, Anne, you can borrow it.” She replies. “I think it will look _perfect_ on you. It was a gift from my aunt Josephine,” she explains as she lays it beside Anne and starts to undo the back, “but I’ve never worn it. I can’t, not with the size – I’m afraid it would look quite scandalous. The only reason it still sits in my closet is because Aunt Josephine would throw a fit if she knew I’d thrown it out.” Diana smiles at Anne and gestures towards the dress. Anne takes a moment to run her fingers gently along the fabric – it’s the most luxurious piece of clothing she’s ever touched.

Somehow, despite the earlier tension and kiss, Diana dressing Anne isn’t awkward at all. It takes three times as long as it would have for Anne simply to have worn her own dress, but the time passes quickly while she’s talking to Diana. When it comes time for the brunette to get dressed her and Anne trade jokes over the shoulder of the maid who’s come to help Diana – God knows Anne never would have been able to figure out all those laces and hooks.

Diana’s dress has clearly been custom made for her – the shade of blue works perfectly with the tan of her skin and the way her hair falls around her chin is positively lovely. Anne’s fingers itch for her pen and notebook but she’d given them to Jerry, so she must settle for simply memorizing the moment to copy down later.

For a moment the two just look at themselves in the mirror – or Anne, thinks that’s what’s happening until her eyes flicker to Diana and she finds the dark-haired girl’s eyes on her, smile warm.

“You look beautiful, Anne.” She says, and Anne’s heart _aches_ ; she feels tears well up in her eyes.

“ _You_ look beautiful Diana – never have I seen a lovelier sight.” Anne wipes the tears from her eyes, laughing. “I feel such a kindred spirit in you, Diana – like we’re _connected_ somehow.” Diana laughs.

“What, like destiny? You’ve known me but an afternoon, Anne.” Diana says, not unkindly.

“Well, Diana Barry,” Anne says, shaking the tears from her eyes and straightening her back, “from now till forever I swear to be the most loyal bosom friend; let not even death part us – if you’ll have me of course.” Anne hastens to add. She holds out her pinky to Diana – maybe it’s a childish gesture, but Anne’s been doing things this way since the orphanage and she’s not going to change now. Diana looks skeptical.

“Must we use such… _language_?” She asks hesitantly. “I don’t think Mother would be happy with… this.” Diana gestures vaguely, encompassing all of Anne’s nonsense.

“This momentous moment deserves the most ardent language possible so as to forever seal it in our memories, don’t you think?” Anne replies, trying to implore Diana through her eyes alone (like all the heroines do in novels).

“I- I suppose so. What’s a bosom friend?” Diana asks, although Anne can tell from the look in her eyes that she’s going to agree anyway.

“A bosom friend is a friend you can share _anything_ with, _always_. The closest of close friends.” Anne breaks her somber tone with a grin. “Or, I think that’s what it is. I’ve never had a bosom friend before.”

“Neither have I…” Diana says longingly, drifting off as she looks between Anne’s outstretched pinky and her face. She must find what she’s looking for, because with the widest grin Anne’s ever seen she firmly grasps Anne’s pinky with her own.

“From now till forever I sweat to be the most loyal bosom friend; let not even death part us.” Diana repeats what would be a solemn vow if not for the soft smile on her face. Anne can’t help but squeal, bringing Diana into a tight hug. The moment is interrupted by someone calling from the other room.

“Diana, darling, we must leave for supper now!” A woman (who Anne presumes to be Diana’s mother) calls. Her voice brings into sudden clarity what Anne has gotten herself into.

She can’t do this.

“I can’t do this.” Anne says, leaning back from Diana’s hug with a pale face. “I-I can’t – what if I mess up or embarrass him or pour something on this wondrous gown-“ Diana cut’s off Anne’s rambling with a soft finger to Anne’s lips.

“Anne, you’ll be fine.” She says with a gentle smile. A blush overtakes her cheeks before she leans in and presses her lips to Anne’s cheek. When she leans away Anne can’t help but bring her fingers up to brush the spot where Diana’s lips had laid. “You’ve got this.”

Then the two are off in a whirlwind of motion and discussions that Anne can’t follow on the way to the dining room. She’s so distracted she barely remembers her surroundings – even with a gun to her head she couldn’t have retraced the path they’d taken.

There’s a quiet moment, as Diana leaves Anne to wait for Gilbert. She stands on what she’s heard called the grand staircase, in a strange bubble of calm. Light reflects off the polished wood surrounding her making it appear like solid gold – this combined with the stunning clock sitting front and center gives the moment a strange, dreamlike quality. Anne tries to imagine Gilbert coming up alongside her, extending his arm to guide her down to supper, but she can’t. The kind, intelligent man she’d talked to on the deck doesn’t fit here at all – in her mind’s eye Gilbert looks as out of place as Anne feels. Thinking back to last night and the way Gilbert had looked at her as he stood over the edge of the railing, Anne imagines the reflection of gold light in his eyes. It completes the picture in a way that makes her feel sick to her stomach. _This_ – this golden dream – is part of what Gilbert had been trying to escape into the ocean from.

Suddenly, the clock isn’t all that beautiful anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall I am,,, so fucking sorry :[ I was so optimistic that quarantine would help me have more time to write but, as it turns out, quarantine is actually super super bad for my mental health! Who would have thought! 
> 
> But yeah, this fic isn’t dead, surprise!!! It was never actually dead – ive had this chapter written since January, I just hadn’t written anything new. I fully plan on finishing this it just might take a little longer than you guys want 
> 
> (everybody say thank you to my friend talyssa for writing that poem bc i didn’t want to!! It may not fit with the time period and what poetry was like then but im going to be real – despite being an english minor I refuse to look into it that hard. Just be happy I gave u a poem to read at all, as I won’t be including any more lol) 
> 
> If you’ve come back to read this update I frickin love you like holy shit I adore you


	8. Chapter 8: A Better Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made a playlist for this fic ages ago, and i finally figured i'd share it! you find it [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3PRsO5V1OEhX2gyC88SnWd?si=JKKwK3WcT0qKOaDoiszNHQ) i listen to it when writing to put me in the mood lol. the vibes are *chefs kiss*

“You don’t actually need help lifting your trunk, do you?” Gilbert asks Winnie as soon as they’ve taken refuge in her cabin.

His heartrate has only just slowed back down from his, Anne, and Jerry’s confrontation with Nigel – it’s only his extensive experience in the presence of such a crowd that kept him from blushing and stammering over his words. He’d thought nothing could be worse than Nigel stumbling upon him with Anne again, but Gilbert had been _oh so wrong_. In terms of situations Gilbert wants to be caught in by Nigel, “spitting off the side of the ship with the third class girl who’d saved him and her best friend” is firmly at the bottom of the list. Gilbert can’t bear to think about how Nigel will punish him for it later.

“Of course not!” Winnie exclaims, throwing herself down on her bed and letting out all the laughter she must have been holding in. Despite his worry, Gilbert smiles with her – it was _kind of_ funny, he’ll admit. “With your noodle arms? Hardly. I’d sooner ask Diana. No, I was simply saving you from a slow death at the hands of my father, which you’re very welcome for!”

“Yeah, thanks Winnie.” Gilbert says, laying down on the bed beside her and covering his face with his hands as his blush finally catches up with him. Despite the heat in his cheeks, however, he barely feels anything at all beyond a vague sense of embarrassment. Gilbert knows this isn’t good and makes a valiant effort to match Winnie’s energy,

“God,” he groans, “that couldn’t have gone worse.”

“Cheer up!” Winnie chirps, jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow. “We could have walked up on you kissing her instead!”

“Winnie, I don’t even want to think about that.” Gilbert complains, although the thought of pressing his lips to Anne’s _is_ a tempting one. The thought of Nigel then promptly disembowelling him, however, is not. “I can’t believe I let myself get so distracted – I completely forgot where I was.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Winnie asks, and shrugs when Gilbert peeks between his fingers to look at her in confusion. “You must really like her if you forget everything just from being in her presence.”

“I guess you’re right.” Gilbert admits after thinking about it. Now that he’s back in Winnie’s cabin, all the anxious thoughts that have been his companions for the last few months are back – he’d barely even noticed their absence, too caught up in _Anne_.

It’s hard to realize this now – the rush of adrenaline from earlier is wearing off, leaving in its place a bundle of nerves and the urge to give in to the numbness that always borders his mind before events like these. Logically he knows that Anne will be there, and thus the dinner will be _nothing_ like the one’s he’s known before, but it’s so hard to picture Anne sitting beside Nigel and the Barry’s that Gilbert can barely fathom it, and the thought does nothing to help distract him. 

“So… are you going to tell me about your angel, now that you’ve finally met her?” Winnie asks after a moment of silence, turning on her side to look expectantly at Gilbert.

“…Do I have to?” Gilbert asks quietly, and Winnie looks at him in surprise.

“Well, I suppose you don’t _have_ to.” She replies. “But why not?”

“I just…” Gilbert sighs and closes his eyes, trying to figure out how to explain the emotions he’s so familiar with but has never given voice to.

“I’m nervous for tonight.” He finally admits in a small voice, and doing so (even to Winnie) goes against everything he’s used to. Normally he wouldn’t tell _anyone_ how he’s feeling, but he’s trying to do better by Winnie, and Anne’s openness had inspired him. “Like, _terrified_ , actually, which isn’t unusual. All I want to do is shut off and go numb and I _know_ I shouldn’t, but it’s so tempting.”

“…Is there anything I can do to help?” Winnie says after a few moments of tense silence. When Gilbert turns to look at her he _almost_ feels bad about the panic on her face – almost. All Gilbert can do in response is shrug.

“I don’t know. This is just normal for me by now.” He replies honestly. Winnie looks contemplative, and Gilbert leaves her to her thoughts – he finds himself staring at the ceiling blankly, thinking of the feeling of Anne’s hand on his arm and trying to remember how happy it had made him.

“Does it help when I talk?” Winnie asks, interrupting his thoughts. “Like, is it distracting or something?” She sounds unsure, but she’s still trying, and Gilbert feels a faint flicker of gratitude towards his best friend.

“We could try.” He answers, and Winnie smiles tentatively.

“You don’t know what you’ve just agreed to, Gilbert.” Winnie jokes with most of her usual fire. “You’ll never get me to shut up now.”

And she doesn’t, not until they’re both dressed for supper and making their way to Nigel and Mrs. Rose. Her chatter isn’t as effortless and substantial as Anne’s is, but Winnie tries her best, and it’s enough to keep Gilbert mostly in the present. It’s strange, changing in the same room as her, and Gilbert feels childishly embarrassed (she’s his _fiancée_ after all) but it’s not as weird as it could be, with Winnie cracking jokes the entire time.

As they approach the Grand Staircase the world comes back into full focus one step at a time. Gilbert notices for the first time just how stunning Winnie looks in her dress – the dusty rose colour compliments her skin tone perfectly, and though Gilbert isn’t attracted to her even he can admit how flattering it is to her figure. She jokes the entire way down, but they aren’t up to her usual energy and he can tell from the grip she has on his arm that she’s still worried about him. He squeezes her hand gently and tries to smile reassuringly when she looks at him in surprise.

“You’re back with us!” She exclaims, but her excitement is only half real, and her worry still shines through. 

“Unfortunately.” Gilbert jokes, putting in just a little more humour than he’s really feeling in – Winnie doesn’t mention it, just like how he doesn’t mention it when her laughter goes on for just a little too long.

“Just in time, too.” She finally replies, gesturing with her chin to the top of the staircase. “Your date is here, Mr. Blythe.”

Gilbert only has half a second to worry about Nigel being close enough to hear that comment before the sight of Anne knocks all thoughts from his head and all breathe from his lungs. He barely notices when Winnie laughs before leaving him behind to follow her parents to talk to the Barry’s, who have already arrived.

Anne looks _devastatingly_ gorgeous, so much so that Gilbert almost feels uncomfortable looking at her. He’s not sure where the dress she’s wearing came from, but it suits her _perfectly_. It’s modest but shows enough of her freckled skin that Gilbert’s mouth goes dry – the cut makes her neck seem impossibly elegant and the colour suits her perfectly, too. Her hair isn’t done up fancy like some of the styles other women here have, but the way it’s simply pulled up suits her, and makes the Anne he’d spent all afternoon with shine through. He’s not sure he’d say she’s _more_ beautiful than before, because Gilbert thinks nothing suits her more than her old dress with all the patches, but she’s beautiful in a different way. It’s the first time he’s admired the finery most women he knows wear, and he has half a mind to hit himself for being so shallow. But that would require taking his eyes off Anne for even a moment, so he’s not going to do that.

Standing at the top of the Grand Staircase with no one else around, Anne looks like she belongs. Not because of the new finery she wears or because she looks like she belongs in wealth, but because Gilbert can see the amazement on her face from here. None of the Rose’s or the Barry’s think anything about the grandiose surroundings – they think they _deserve_ it. This place deserves some who looks at it in such wonder, like Anne does – someone who will remember it forever in her poetry.

Gilbert’s time to admire Anne quickly comes to an end as she turns around and spots him lurking at the bottom of the stairs. His heart skips a beat at the way her face lights up when she sees him – the feeling from this afternoon is back, and the numbness is gone. With a giddy skip of his heart, Gilbert realizes that he wants to feel like this _forever_ – it’s silly, but it can’t quite banish the wish from his mind.

Anne slows down from her hurried pace as she nears the bottom of the stairs and takes on what he assumes to be the air of a first class woman – Gilbert can’t help but grin at how ridiculous she looks. Anne was not made to turn her nose up, or hold her arms so conservatively, and you can tell just from looking at her.

“Mr. Blythe.” She says, and holds one of her hands up. For a moment Gilbert is confused, but then he realizes with a grin what she wants.

“Miss Shirley.” He murmurs, just as serious, before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

For a moment the two just stare at each other in a strange, intense moment, before they both break into giggles.

“I read about a scene like that in a book once.” Anne whispers to him as he gently escorts her down the remaining stairs. “I just had to try it for myself – thanks for playing along.”

“You’re welcome.” Gilbert whispers back with a smile before turning back to the room around them. Most have already filtered into the dining room, although the Barry’s and Rose’s still stand around the corner. Nigel is eyeing the pair suspiciously, while Winnie grins at them mischievously and winks so unsubtly at Gilbert that he thinks the attendant at the top of the stairs probably saw it, too.

“Tonight, we’re going to be dining with the Barry’s,” Gilbert tells Anne under his breath, “as we have every other night. Mr. Barry is a shareholder in some business I have no care to remember the name of and his wife is a full-time gentlewoman – they have two daughters; the youngest, Minnie May, won’t be joining us tonight. The other is-“

“Diana, I know.” Anne interrupts him, already grinning at said girl and giving her a little wave. “I met here earlier – she was ever so kind enough to loan me this wonderful dress.”

“Oh, that’s good. There’s Nigel, or Mr. Rose, who you’ve already met, and his wife, Mrs. Rose.” Gilbert gestures to the married couple, where they’ve already started heading into the dining room, deep in conversation with the Barry’s. Winnie, however, is staying back and smiling expectantly at him and Anne. “And this is Winnifred, my, uh, fiancée.” Gilbert stumbles for words, suddenly feeling _very_ awkward about introducing the two. Unbidden, his and Winnie’s conversation floats to the front of his mind – despite his protests, and the lack of anything but friendship between him and Anne, it _does_ feel rather horribly like he’s introducing his mistress to his wife.

“You can call me Winnie, of course.” Winnie says, holding out a hand for Anne to shake and graciously ignoring Gilbert’s trip up. She smiles winningly at the redhead. “Any friend of Gil’s is a friend of mine, and he’s told me _so_ much about you.”

Without pause, and before Anne can reply, Winnie takes Gilbert’s other arm and tugs him into leading them both into the dining room.

“He has?” Anne replies, surprised. Gilbert blushes and tries to discreetly elbow Winnie – it’s hard with her holding onto his arm.

“Oh yes, I’ve heard all about your poetry and your…” Winnie pauses to let her eyes roam Anne’s face, a sly grin on her lips. “freckles.”

Gilbert wishes he could come up with a suitable response, something to make him seem less _creepy_ , but all he can do is blush more. Maybe it’s not too late to throw himself off the back of the ship, if only to save himself the humiliation.

Luckily, Nigel takes that moment to call Winnie over to the table they’ve claimed, and she leaves with a quick kiss to Gilbert’s cheek.

“Don’t take too long, Gilbert.” She says before running off, and even the wink she sends over her shoulder doesn’t falter the relief he feels at finally having the conversation back under his control.

“I apologize for her, Anne.” He says awkwardly, turning to the redhead. “She’s… well, she’s a lot.”

“There’s absolutely no need to apologize, Gilbert.” Anne replies, squeezing his arm. “I like her already – she’s so much more _alive_ than I’d picture any of the women here tonight to be! You can see her life just looking at her rosy cheeks and the sparkle in her eye! Nothing like the statue I’d expected. No offence.” Anne hurries to add, and Gilbert laughs.

“No, you’re right – I’m sure many of the men and women here tonight aren’t nearly as stuffy behind closed doors, but Winnie is the only one brave enough to pretend she has a personality in public. I’m afraid not even I am brave enough for that.” Gilbert says ruefully. He’s not sure why he’s admitting this now – maybe to warn Anne, when she sees a side of him tonight he’s tried to keep hidden until now.

She chooses not to comment on it, instead leading the way in a leisurely stroll around the room. Most people have yet to be seated, so they have quite a crowd to walk through.

“Who’s that?” She practically demands after a few moments of silence, pointing to a woman Gilbert vaguely remembers having been introduced to – she’s quite the sight, in a dress that looks more jewel than fabric, but he’s fairly sure she’s nothing more than a mistress to one of the rich men on board. Still, Gilbert dutifully relays the information to Anne.

“No-“ She interrupts him mid-sentence, “tell me something _interesting_ about her. Inspire me, Gilbert Blythe.”

There’s something about those words that takes Gilbert’s breath away, leaving nothing but his heart fluttering in his chest. With such a request put before him Gilbert can hardly say no, and the pair spend the next fifteen minutes quietly laughing at the stories they make up about the people around them. Anne gives overdramatic gasps as Gilbert embellishes more detail, and he finds himself caught up in the fun of it all. They catch nothing more than the occasional curious look in response – Anne wears this new dress and her own skin so confidently they all assume she’s one of their own.

The ringing of the dinner bell to signal the beginning of the meal is so harsh and sudden he almost jumps out of his skin. Fortunately, despite the fact that it feels like all Gilbert’s thoughts flee at the sight of Anne, he manages to gracefully lead her into a chair across from his, and he remembers all the manners he should as the meal begins.

“How is the accommodation in steerage, Miss Shirley?” Nigel asks Anne for all the table to hear after a few moments of side conversation. “I hear they are more luxurious on this ship than most.” His tone sounds pleasant, but Gilbert knows it’s truly anything but.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go as far as _luxurious_.” Anne says with a hearty grin. “But there’s space for me to lay my head and eat my meals, so it’s good enough for me.”

Conversation moves on, much to Nigel’s chagrin. Anne is too far for any of Gilbert’s words to reach her, so he instead turns to listen to Winnie’s gossip, watching Anne converse with Diana out of the corner of his eye. She looks surprisingly happy amongst their current company. Attention only turns back to the redhead when caviar is being served.

“None for me, thank you!” She says cheerfully to the waiter, guarding her plate. “While it sounds, in theory, delightfully rich and exciting, I’m afraid I’ve never acquired the taste for it.”

“Do you travel much, Miss Shirley?” Winnie asks eagerly, leaning over Gilbert to get closer to the redhead. Anne nods.

“Yes, I do! I’ve spent the last year hopping all over Europe! It’s been splendid.” Anne beams.

“Alone?” Mrs. Rose asks, scandalized, and Gilbert rolls his eyes. If only she knew who she was talking to – Anne can handle herself. As can Winnie, for that matter.

“Of course not! I’d be bereft without company – I thrive on good conversation! No, I’ve been traveling with Jerry, my former farmhand. We recently inherited a farm in Canada – that’s our end destination.”

“Are you married?” Mrs. Barry interjects, clearly disgusted at the thought of marrying a _farmhand_. Unbeknownst to most of the table, Diana wilts in her chair.

Abruptly reminded of his early faux-pas, Gilbert blushes. He should have known better than to assume, given how much he hates it when people assume about him, but her poem had been so _passionate_ , Gilbert couldn’t help it. For a moment he can’t help but imagine that _he_ was the muse for the poem – maybe if he impresses her tonight she’ll write a poem about _him_. Gilbert shakes his head, trying to dispel the foolish thoughts – _Anne doesn’t have to write a poem about me if she doesn’t want to_ , he tries to convince himself, _and I’m not doing anything tonight just to impress her_.

“Married to Jerry?” Anne bursts out laughing, the sound cutting through the quiet chatter of the whole room obnoxiously. “No way! We’re just friends traveling together – my parents practically adopted him before they died.” Though it should be a sad topic, no one at the table save Diana and Winnie seem to care that Anne’s an orphan. Maybe they had already assumed so.

“An unmarried woman traveling with a _man_?” Mrs. Rose exclaims, bringing up her napkin to cover her mouth. “Why, that’s so very unproper! Do you _enjoy_ that kind of-of _barbaric_ existence?” She spits out the question like she’s asking Anne if she enjoys murdering babies or something equally horrendous.

“Of course!” Anne replies, still in the same high spirits. She either doesn’t notice the judgement in Mrs. Rose’s tone or doesn’t care – it’s probably the latter, and Gilbert has to hide his grin at the thought. “As I was telling Mr. Blythe – I believe life is meant to be an adventure, and I’ll make my decisions as if it is! Besides, if there’s one thing my meager existence has taught me, it’s that one doesn’t need much – all _I_ need is a fresh page of paper and my best friend at my side.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Miss Shirley.” Winnie cuts in before anyone else at the table can judge Anne. She holds her wine glass up in a toast. “To adventure!”

“To adventure!” Gilbert quickly echoes, raising his own drink. He can’t help but look to Anne at the declaration – their eyes meet, and it feels like his heart stops. It’s a familiar feeling by now, but one he can’t help but be surprised by. Her green eyes sparkle as she echoes the toast, and the grin on her face is infectious. For a moment, just _one_ moment, Gilbert could almost pretend like she’s looking at him with something _more_ in her face.

So, adventure, huh? He looks at Winnie, who’s already looking back at him with a secretive grin, and remembers her offer from last night. Then he looks at Anne, and her freckles and her eyes and her smile and the way he lights up as she giggles with Diana and the way the light reflects off her fiery hair and –

Gilbert grins, and raises his glass slightly, for his eyes only.

“To adventure!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i hate myself for deciding to name the chapters lmao
> 
> gilbert be like *thirsts over anne in a floor length dress that only shows her arms and neck*   
> but i mean fair enough gilbert i probably would too lmao
> 
> i hope this chapter is good enough for the wait :] im so ashamed that it's already almost a year since i first posted and i've only written 10/23 chapters... oh well that's just the way the cookie crumbles i suppose. i'd like to reiterate that i will eventually finish this!! comments help motivate me, but don't worry abt this fic dying


	9. Chapter 9

Supper with the first class doesn’t go as horribly as Anne anticipates. Despite the obvious disdain most of the men and women hold for her it truly is a delight to meet Winnie, even if the sight of her arm in Gilbert’s makes something horrible and jealous rise in Anne’s chest.

Though Anne feels foolish and shallow to think it, the food really is the highlight of the meal. She’s never had such rich dishes, or even eaten a meal with more than once course. It takes all of her self-control to not simply throw caution to the wind and dig in wholeheartedly. The only thing that stops her is her desire to make at least _somewhat_ of a good impression – it’s a doomed endeavor from the start, but at the very least she doesn’t need Gilbert’s fiancée thinking she’s some kind of pig.

Speaking of Gilbert – while he’s not the same captivating man she’d spoken to on the bridge, and his beautiful grin never reappears once they’ve sat down, he’s no where near being in the state she’d expected. Anne can’t see the anguished man she’d met hanging off the ship in his eyes, and that’s more than she could have hoped for. Still, she’s sad to see him retreat behind his walls. As the conversation dies down it takes the spark from earlier with it. As Gilbert sits in his dining chair not even all the finery around him can make him look like anything but a shell of a man. Anne doesn’t know how everyone here can’t see it.

Well, that’s not true. Winnie can. She spends most of dinner (when not interrogating Anne) whispering jokes into Gilbert’s ear and nudging him with her elbow, clearly trying to get a reaction. Anne thinks it works, at least to some degree. She can’t tell if Gilbert’s restrained smiles and half-hearted chuckles are because of the present company or if he simply doesn’t have the heart to laugh.

A strange concoction of emotions that Anne can barely muddle through swirls within her, leaving Anne unusually hesitant and unsure. She doesn’t like it here, where no one’s smile is real and Nigel Rose won’t stop _staring_ at her, but she doesn’t want to leave, either. To be more precise, she doesn’t want to leave _Gilbert_. It feels like if she leaves him now it will be the end of the chapter, and Gilbert’s time in her story will come to an end.

So, Anne does something that even _she_ can admit is foolish. But it’s not for her or her _feelings_ , it’s for Gilbert, who she knows deserves something better, something _more_. More than anything she wants to see him free of this place and it’s peoples’ hold on him. And if her feelings on the matter are a little more than slightly selfish, well, Anne’s never claimed to be anything else.

 _Up for an adventure? Meet me at the clock_ reads the note that Anne slips into Gilbert’s palm as the men depart from the table.

“Won’t you stay, Anne?” Winnie had asked, and Anne had graciously shaken her head. Whether Gilbert accepts her invitation or not she feels no inclination whatsoever to stay even a moment longer in the first class dining room.

Now, though her heart would usually be aflutter at the memory of Gilbert’s lips pressed to her fingers, all Anne can think about is her penmanship. Never before has she been so self conscious about how she writes her a’s – not even when Josie Pye had made fun of her for them in grade school. _Gilbert’s_ writing is probably perfect from years spent at private schools.

As she stands in front of the clock, she tries to calm the mess of nerves swirling in her stomach. It’s all going to be fine, she tells herself, whether Gilbert comes or not. The thought doesn’t really help, as Anne still can’t help but worry that she’s going to look like a fool, standing up here waiting for a man who never comes.

In front of her the clock chimes ten o clock, the noise muffled by the soft noises of the room. It’s pretty, and Anne smiles – well, even if Gilbert never comes, Anne doesn’t regret coming. Though the first class company is lacking the Titanic’s beauty is not, and that makes the stuffy dinner and embarrassment she now feels worth it.

“Anne?”

Lost in her thoughts, Anne doesn’t notice Gilbert until he’s right behind her. She jumps in surprise, letting out a squeaky yelp that immediately causes her cheeks to burst into flame.

“Gilbert!” She exclaims, forcing her arms back down to her sides in a rather futile effort to appear composed. He’s nice enough not to laugh, but Gilbert’s eyes sparkle in amusement. Anne wants to be irritated, because there’s nothing she hates more than being laughed at (having had enough of _that_ from her childhood), but she can’t. It doesn’t seem so cruel, not in Gilbert’s warm brown eyes.

“Well?” He asks after a moment of silence, raising an eyebrow. “What adventure are we going on?”

“Why, Gilbert, I’m so glad you asked!” Anne exclaims, gesturing for him to raise his arm so she can take it. “A little birdy told me there’s a party happening in the third class dining room, as there is most nights, and I managed to get us two invitations.” Gilbert nods sagely, keeping the sophisticated air she’s put on.

“Well, lead the way, Miss Shirley.” He says, and Anne giggles.

When the pair finally arrive back on Anne’s part of the ship it’s a huge weight off her shoulders. No one here cares about how she looks in her dress, or how she holds her shoulders. An invisible tension she hadn’t even been aware of has melted away, leaving Anne loose and relaxed than before. The sound of the dining room reaches them long before they can see it’s flickering lights – Gilbert, unlike Anne, tenses as soon as he hears it. His shoulders raise slowly with every step they take until they’re firmly by his shoulders as they reach the entrance.

Anne tries to imagine what her world must look like through Gilbert’s eyes. _Loud_ is the first thing that comes to mind – though there had been music in the first class dining room it had been soft and restrained, nothing like the racket that fills the space in front of them. Busy, too, then, for a similar reason. First class is full of perfect manners and posture, everyone moving in synch with some beat that Anne isn’t privy to. Here in third class, people sit and stand wherever, they dance and sing even when there’s no music!

It’s no surprise that Gilbert looks so out of depth, if he’s noticing all the things she just has! Anne still can’t help but giggle at the shock on his face, but she feels sympathy for him, too. So, instead of dragging him right into the thick of things and demanding he dance with her until they’re both out of breath like she wants to (because that’s an experience _everyone_ needs), Anne leads him gently over to where she can see Felix and Jonas sitting, hoping that Jerry is somewhere nearby. Luckily for her, the pair are more than happy to point Anne over to where he’s arm wrestling Moody.

“Boys!” She calls as she nears, pulling Gilbert behind her, but neither look up from the table. They’ve clearly been going at it for quite a while if the redness of their cheeks is any indication, but there’s no sign of a winner yet. Anne rolls her eyes fondly at them before snagging two beers off the table that are sitting dangerously close to their elbows. Really, she’s doing them a favour by taking them. They’ll find new ones in no time anyway – everyone in the room has one in their hand, so there’s clearly no shortage.

“Here!” She says, handing one to Gilbert. Maybe some liquid courage will help him – God knows she needs some if she’s going to survive an entire night beside him. Just to be polite she waits for him to take a hesitant sip before throwing hers back in one go. It doesn’t take her long – she’d perfected the art of chugging when it had proved an easy way to scam men out of money in bars. She doesn’t look it, but Anne can hold her alcohol.

Just as she’s about to finish a nearby cat call distracts her, and Anne nearly chokes. Jerry, of course, is the culprit, having obviously just won the match, and she glares at him darkly as he laughs. Gilbert awkwardly tries to help her out by patting her back. Thankfully, he’s not laughing along.

“You’re a bastard, Jerry!” Anne exclaims when she finally has her breath back. She has half a mind to throw the remainder of her beer over his head, if that wasn’t a waste of a good drink. Instead she just quickly finishes it, thrusting the empty glass into her best friend’s hands. He can deal with it as punishment, she decides.

“Sorry, Anne!” Jerry replies, clearly not sorry in the slightest. Thankfully, Moody interrupts before she can do something stupid like tackle him in front of Gilbert. 

“ _Anne_?!” He exclaims in surprise. Anne’s eyes narrow in suspicion – it’s possible that he truly didn’t recognize her given how they barely know each other but…

“Why, I almost didn’t recognize you!” He continues, grin turning mischievous. “You almost look like you belong in first class! Almost.”

Anne rolls her eyes – looks like she was right. Jerry is quick to join in on the ribbing.

“Yeah, Anne, are you sure you should be wearing that dress?” He asks, poking her in the ribs. “You’ll _dirty_ it! Here left me lift it so you don’t drag it in the dust –“ Jerry leans down to grab the hem of the dress and Anne decides that’s enough of that.

“No thank you, Jerry.” She responds primly, like he was serious about the suggestion. “I’m afraid your hands would dirty it more than the floor, so I have to refuse. Come on, Gilbert, let’s go dance.” Anne plucks the half empty beer from his hands and hands it to Moody before sweeping away, unwilling to hear Jerry’s comeback. They’re already halfway across the room when she has the thought to see if he’s okay with being dragged around.

“Oh my gosh, Gilbert, I’m so sorry, I should have asked what you wanted to do-“ She begins, whirling around to face him. She expects him to be a little irritated, as she probably would be at such treatment, but instead there’s an expression on his face that stops Anne’s next words in her throat.

Though she can’t quite read the emotion on his face, there’s something about the way his eyes take her in that makes her breath catch in her chest. His cheeks are faintly red and he’s breathing a little harder than before – Anne tells herself it’s just because it’s hot down here in third class, as close to the engines as they are. She can’t quite find an excuse for the way his gaze strays down from her eyes to her lips, though, or for the way they linger there. For a second the air between them is almost electric, and the music fades away to a murmur that Anne can barely focus on. She wants to pull herself away from whatever this is, but she’s not sure how to.

“Gilbert?” She asks, cautiously, and he jerks like he’s awoken from a daze.

“Sorry!” He blurts out, and now there’s a real blush on his cheeks. Anne can’t help but giggle at the way he rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment, even if she’s not sure what he’s apologizing for. “Dancing, you said?”

“Yes! I’m sure we could find you a partner here – I’m surprised no one’s asked already!” Anne nods her head enthusiastically. Her excitement is lessened when Gilbert doesn’t share in it, instead just looking rather confused.

“You aren’t going to be my partner?” He asks, cocking his head in confusion rather adorably.

“Wha- _me_?!” Anne exclaims in surprise before bursting into nervous laughter. “Don’t be silly, Gilbert! I could never be your partner – I’m much too ungainly and stiff. Besides, I’m sure you’re much better at dancing than I am. I could never embarrass you like that! There are so many women here more talented than I, and-“

“Anne.” Gilbert interrupts her rambling. “Let me worry about what is or isn’t embarrassing to me. There’s no one here to judge us.”

“Still,” Anne says nervously, looking around the room as if a woman is going to appear out of thin air and whisk Gilbert away, thus saving her from this conversation, “I don’t know how to dance at all-“

“I was taught ballroom dancing, not whatever this is.” Gilbert replies, amused. He smiles at her before stepping so close their chests are almost touching and placing one arm around her waist. “So I daresay we’re on even ground.”

Reluctantly Anne nods and allows Gilbert to lead them a little closer to the people playing the music. The first few moments of their dance are _nerve wracking_. Anne steps on Gilbert’s feet three times, nearly trips over her own dress twice, and can’t even raise her head to look her partner in the eyes. Never has she felt more like a bumbling oaf, not even under Josie Pye’s scorn.

“Hey. Hey-“ Gilbert says, repeating when Anne doesn’t respond. Gently, with the hand he was holding her own with, he tilts her chin up until she’s looking at him. Her cheeks burn, but Gilbert’s smiling is nothing but kind. “Don’t think so hard – just look at me. You’re doing just fine.”

It’s a lie, Anne _knows_ it’s a lie, but she allows herself to be comforted anyway. It takes a little effort but Anne manages to focus on Gilbert rather than her own feet and, surprisingly, it works! Gilbert laughs at the wonder on her face and twirls her through the other couples on the floor. Anne can’t help but laugh in response, and _Jerry’s_ definitely laughing at her from the side of the room, but she doesn’t care.

The rest of the night is a blur – Anne really only remembers it in splashes of colour and Gilbert in between dances and beer. She spins until she’s dizzy and she dances until she’s sick, all looking into Gilbert’s warm brown eyes. They take breaks to laugh and mingle with others (at one point Anne arm wrestles Jerry and wins), but mostly the night is spent dancing. Mix that together with a not insignificant amount of alcohol, and Anne is left high on emotions as the pair of them stumble across the deck, singing some stupid drinking song and annoying all the officers they pass.

Gilbert’s singing too, a little off key and with the wrong words but with his whole chest, nonetheless. He’s a breathless from laughing in between notes, and, for the first time since they met, he sounds like the eighteen year old he is, rather than the gentleman he’s been pretending to be. Anne is proud to be the one to bring about this change in him. It makes her feel like all of this, these stupid feelings and all the glares from the first class, are worth it.

It’s April on the Atlantic, and the night is no warmer than the one before. Anne can’t help it when her shivers eventually disrupt her singing, leaving Gilbert the only one carrying the tune.

“Oh.” He blinks in surprise when he realizes she’s stopped, and Anne laughs past the chattering of her teeth. “Are you cold?” Anne nods, rubbing her arms.

“I almost miss all the layers Jerry foisted on me last night.” She jokes. It’s not a lie – though Diana’s dress is gorgeous it’s clearly meant for sitting indoors and looking pretty, not dancing on the deck of the Titanic. “It’s nice to be able to move, though-“

Anne jumps so hard she nearly bites her tongue as something thick and heavy suddenly falls on her shoulders. She’d been so distracted she hadn’t even noticed Gilbert sneaking up behind her, his jacket in his hands. He takes a moment to make sure it’s covering her, adjusting it until he takes a half-step back with a pleased smile on his face. His hands linger for a moment after on the collar under her chin, waiting until she holds it herself before he lets go.

“There!” He exclaims, a grin on his face. “Now you won’t be cold!”

Anne feels like a fish out of water, unable to do anything but stand in front of Gilbert and gape at the act of kindness and the look on his face. Gilbert’s cheeks are red from the Atlantic chill, but instead of making him look tragic like last night, it makes him look _alive_. Unlike earlier, when he’d stared at her lips, his eyes never stray from her own.

There’s nothing particularly momentous or epoch-making about this moment – if anyone were to look out the window they would see nothing more than two young adults standing outside in the cold, looking at each other like a pair of idiots. But Anne doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to forget it.

Right now, in this moment, Anne can’t help but feel that Gilbert Blythe truly _sees_ her, like so many fail to do. And that thought is terrifying.

Anne had accepted long ago that she’s _strange_ and _different_. If it wasn’t the taunts from her peers that told her it was the way everyone looked at her when she opened her mouth, like she was speaking another language. Even Jerry still looks at her like that at times, though it’s been tinged with fondness for quite a while now.

She used to spend hours lamenting everything from her personality to her freckles to her hair, and, as she eventually realized, nothing good has _ever_ come from it. Learning to love her own oddities and revel in the unique world only she knew had been the best decision Anne ever made. While there will always be a little orphan girl living inside her, Anne is her own person now, wild and beautiful in a way unique only to her, and she knows it, she does!

But it’s hard to remember that around Gilbert Blythe.

Gilbert Blythe makes Anne nervous, like she’s standing on the edge of a cliff with unsure footing. The cliff has a beautiful view, one worth any amount of danger, but that doesn’t stop Anne from shaking.

Now more than ever this is true – though the sun has collapsed completely beyond the horizon and the stars’ shine is the only thing illuminating the near-empty deck, Gilbert’s eyes gleam bright enough Anne feels like she should have sunspots dancing in her vision when their gazes meet. Her chest heaves with breath as she laughs and sings then laughs some more, and she’s sweating a little from the heaviness of Gilbert’s coat lying on her shoulders but she doesn’t move to take it off. The smile on her face is so wide her cheeks hurt – if Gilbert sings any more Anne’s afraid her grin will split her head wide open, releasing her unspoken thoughts into the cold Atlantic air, the ones she herself has not even dared to touch. She wants so desperately to pretend that she’s only watching him to take in the light shining off him as he finally steps into his own life, but she can’t.

As they come to a stop outside the entrance to first class, stumbling a little from their laughter and the alcohol still flushing their cheeks, Anne looks up into Gilbert’s face. Something in her both quiets and shouts for joy as she realizes that, for the first time since they’ve met, there is no darkness in Gilbert’s eyes.

The ground below her feels even less stable than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gilbert watching anne chug a beer: *error noise*
> 
> Two updates in one month?? Who the fuck am I and what I have done with blankie lmao 😂 this one is 100% for yall – ur comments keep me going! Helps that I had a whole week off school too lmao 
> 
> Im so excited for the next chapters like it finally gets good yall


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